THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 


5?  cars  S3 

.     ■  g  t—  BP       c*  S 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


ps 2236 

.L25 

S3 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00008738315 


Scattered  jbeaves* 


S3 


BY 


LUCIE  MAYNARD  LEACH. 


NEW  YORK  . 

PUBLISHED   FOR  THE  AUTHORES! 

E.  J.  HALE  &  SON,  PUBLIS 
Murray  Street. 
1877, 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1877, 
By  Mrs.  L.  M.  Leach, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED 

m  BY 

National  Printing  Company, 
13  chambers  st.,  n.  y. 


OF 

MY    SAINTED    FATHER    AND  MOTHER, 

Whose  bright  example  and  holy  teachings  have  ever 
shed  a  halo  about  my  pathway,  I  most  affec- 
tionately dedicate  this  little  volume, 
with  the  warmest  love. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


https://archive.org/details/scatteredleavesOOIeac 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

To  the  Memory  of  Robert  E.  Lee,  .         .         .  11 

Walter  Vane:  or,  The  Maniac  Bride,  .         .  .13 

An  Acrostic,  .         .  .         .         .  17 

Our  Baby,         .......  18 

Inconvenience  of  a  Moustache,    ....  20 

Lines  to  One  I  Love,    .         .         .         .         ...  21 

Caldwell's  Reply,    ......  22 

Speak  Gently,    .......  23 

The  Doctor's  Appeal,         ...         .         .         .  25 

The  Ocean  Maid,         .         .         .         .         .  .29 

These  Little  Boots,  .         .         .  .  32 

Lenora,  .         .         .         .         .         .  .34 

To  My  Father,  37 

The  Twin  Brothers :  or,  A  Tale  of  Treachery,        .         .  39 
Change,  .         .         .         .         .         .  45 

In  Memoriam,    .         .         .         .         .  46 

A  Tale  of  the  Wine-cup,    .         .         .         .         .  49 

Lines,     .         .         .         .         .         .         .  .51 

The  Curse  of  Gold :  or,  The  Old. Man's  Bride,    .         .  52 
Inaugural  Ode,  ...         ...  54 

Let  Me  Go!  .         .         .         .         .         .  50 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 


Written  during  Illness,  to  an  Absent  Father,         .  .58 
Georgie  and  Birdie,  .         .         .         .         .  59 

Farewell  to  the  Sweet  Sunny  Hopes  of  my  Youth,  .  61 

Thoughts  Suggested  by  a  Handful  of  Blue-bird  Feathers,  62 
A  Lady's  Reply,         .  .  .  .  .         .  .63 

Children's  Fancies,  .....  68 

Little  Delno,  71 

Geraldine,     .......  73 

Imitation  of  The  Song  of  the  Shirt,    .  .  .  .75 

The  Dying  Soldier,  .  .         .  .  .  76 

Farewell!    (Written  on  the  Reception  of  a  Package),      .  79 
The  Maniac  Mother,  .....  80 

A  Smile  from  Thee,     .  .  .  .  .82 

The  Twin  Angels,  83 

The  Song  of  the  Plough'boy,  .         .         .  .85 

Sleep  On,  Father !  .....  87 

Cleora,  .89 

The  Burnt  Boy.    An  Incident  of  Real  Life,       .  .  90 

Watching,         .         .         .         .         .         .  .95 

The  Little  Word,  No!         ...  .98 

Alice  Gray,  100 

An  Appeal  to  the  Grange,  .         .         .         .  102 

Lines  to  One  I  Love,  ...  ...  104 

InMemoriam,         ......  106 

To  a  Young  Bachelor,  who  said  he  had  Written  a  Poem 

on  "  Home,"  109 

To  Alice,  ....  .  110 

Lines,         .         .         •  .         .         .  Ill 

We  are  but  Four,      .         .  .         .  .112 


CONTENTS.  vii 

Page. 

To  Rosa,      .         .         .         .         .         .         .  113 

Farewell!        .         .         .         .         .         .  .116 

Lines,         .         .         .  .         .         .  118 

Beatrice.    Fragments  of  an  Unwritten  Life,        .  .  119 

Another  Less  to  Love  Me,  ....  124 

To  My  Little  Boy,  Asleep,      .         .         .         .  .125 

Just  on  the  Other  Side,    .....  127 

Thoughts  on  Seeing  Fergurson's  Cartoon  of  The  Guber- 
natorial Race,      ......  128 

Under  t  he  Snow,    ......  130 

Lines  to  a  Friend,       ......  131 

Why  don't  I  get  a  Letter  ?  132 
Molasses  and  Mush.    (A  Parody)     ....  134 

Over  the  Way,       ......  135 

The  Married  Man's  Melody.    (A  Parody)    .       •  .         .  138 
I  Heard  Thy  Thrilling  Voice,      ....  139 

The  Neglected  Grave,  .         .         .         .  .140 

An  Acrostic,         ......  143 


PREFACE. 


These  Poems  are  offered  to  the  Public  at  the 
instance  of  friends,  who  desire  such  a  work,  and  who 
persuade  the  authoress   that  it  will   be  acceptable. 

In  justice  to  herself  she  would  state  that  the 
Poems,  with  but  few  exceptions,  were  written  by 
her  while  a  school-girl,  under  twenty  years  of  age. 
Perhaps  they  may  let  a  sunbeam  in  upon  some 
otherwise  darkened  corner  of  the  parlor  or  fireside, 
or  reflect  sentiments  congenial  to  those  who  love 
the  poetical,  and  are  ever  reaching  out  after  such 
beams. 

If  they  should  serve  to  add  a  ray  of  light  to 
such  hearth-stones,  or  pour  balm  into  some  sorrow- 
ing heart,  the  authoress  will  feel  fully  recompensed. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 


Dead  !  dead  !  Oh,  tell  me  not 
That  on  that  brow  serene 

The  death-damp  lies ; 
That  on  Earth's  bosom,  hallowed  spot ! 
He  sleeps ;  no  more  be  seen 

Those  soul-lit  eyes. 

We  loved,  we  reverenced  him ; 
Our  sad  lament  we  raise 

Throughout  the  land  5 
Our  eyes  with  tears  are  dim  ; 
His  foes  e'en  yield  him  praise — 

So  good — so  grand  ! 

Farewell ! — a  long  farewell ! 
Thou  type  of  purity ; 

We  grieve  to  part. 
Thy  power  none  can  tell, 
But  true  humility 

Was  in  thy  heart. 


12 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Oft  will  Lee's  soldiers  tell. 
When  by  the  camp-fire's  light, 

The  hero's  story  — 
Of  words  remembered  well, 
To  which  his  smile,  so  bright, 

Lent  wondrous  glory. 

While  we  this  tribute  give, 
With  pain  each  bosom  smarts 

Loved  ties  to  sever — 
But  General  Lee  will  live 
Enshrined  in  Southern  hearts  ; 

Yes,  live  forever ! 

Farewell !  Oh  !  let  us  pray  — 
Yes,  we  who  loved  him  so  — 

On  bended  lmee, 
To  live  like  him  we  may, 
And  die — we  ask  no  more  — 

Like  Robert  Lee  ! 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


13 


OR,  THE  MANIAC  BRIDE. 

?Twas  evening,  just  at  twilight, 

And  the  cannon's  boom  was  hushed, 

Thinking,  in  the  waning  skylight, 
Of  the  hearts  its  dawn  had  crushed. 

Resting,  weary  of  the  battle, 
On  the  hard  and  gory  ground, 

Free  awhile  from  whiz  and  rattle 
Of  the  musketry  around, 

We  were  dreaming — some  of  sorrow, 

Some  pf  happiness  untold  5 
All  forgetful  that  the  morrow 

Would  new  agonies  unfold — 

When,  upstarting  from  our  slumber, 
Bright  the  vision  we  beheld : 

One  there  was  amid  our  number, 

Whose  wild  words  our  bosoms  swelled. 

Golden  ringlets,  softly  shading 
Brow  of  pearl  and  neck  of  snow, 

And  a  light,  those  brown  eyes  lading, 
Full  of  tears  and  full  of  woe. 


14 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Brown  eyes,  once  so  joyous  beaming, 
"Well  we  knew  whose  pride  they  were  ; 

But  so  like  an  angel  seeming, 

That  we  bowed  our  heads  in  awe. 

Voice  so  plaintive,  soft  and  mellow, 
Charmed  our  eager,  listening  ear  • 

Seraph-like,  from  each  rough  fellow 
Her  wild  story  drew  a  tear. 

"  Where  is  Walter  ?    Can  you  show  me  ? 
I  have  looked  above,  below  me, 

And  no  trace  of  him  I  find ; 
But  three  suns  have  set  in  beauty 
Since,  to  fill  his  post  of  duty, 

Walter  left  his  bride  behind. 

"  Yes,  they  told  me  he  was  lying 
With  the  dead  and  with  the  dying, 

And  a  ball  had  pierced  his  brain ; 
The  eye  can  look  no  deeper, 
But  I've  noted  each  pale  sleeper, 

Yet  I  seek  him  here  in  vain. 

"  Stranger,  tell  me  of  my  Walter ! 
I  am  strong,  oh,  clo  not  falter ; 

Tell  me,  so  that  I  may  rest. 
Many  a  mile,  so  long  and  dreary, 
I  have  come,  and,  oh !  so  weary, 

That  I  long  to  find  his  breast. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


15 


u  Stranger,  tell  me  where  they  laid  him  — 
Where  the  clay-cold  grave  they  made  him, 

Coffinless  and  lone. 
Tell  me,  so  that  I  may  press  him 
To  my  heart,  and  soft  caress  him — 
T,  his  loved  lone. 

"  There  this  head,  so  faint  and  aching  — 
There  this  heart,  so  wildly  breaking, 

He  will  soothe  with  tender  love. 
I  will  press  his  cold  lips  —  stealing 
Back  to  life  and  hope  and  feeling, 

My  own  darling  from  above. 

"  I  will  call  him  by  his  pet  name  — 
I  will  tell  him  of  the  bright  fame 

He  has  just  so  nobly  won. 
Oh !  we  cannot  lose  our  Walter ! 
Death  his  stem  decree  must  alter, 

Else  our  hearts  are  all  undone. 

"  I  will  tell  him  of  his  mother  — 
Widowed,  and  on  earth  no  other 

Like  the  son,  she  cherished  so ; 
Of  his  baby-sister,  Rena  — 
Nought  on  earth  from  him  can  wean  her, 

Oh !  we  can  not  let  him  go  ! " 

Slowly,  sadly,  then  we  led  her 
Where  we  laid  our  comrade  down, 


16 


sr.  i  TTERED  LEA  FES. 


With  his  knapsack  for  his  pillow. 
And  his  blanket  wrapped  around : 

One  bright  ringlet,  elasped  in  dying  — 
One  loved  picture,  open  wide  — 

On  his  pulseless  breast  was  lying ; 
More  to  him  than  earth  beside. 

There  we  left  her  to  her  sorrow, 
And  her  anguish  wild  and  keen : 

Language  I  would  vainly  borrow 
To  portray  that  sacred  scene. 

Through  the  nightwatch.  long  and  dreary, 
TTe  could  see  the  white-robed  form 

Of  the  maniac  bride,  so  weary. 
Like  a  reed  bowed  by  the  storm ; 

Bending  o'er  our  noble  brother, 

Striving  by  each  winning  art 
But  once  more  to  feel  another 

Deep  pulsation  of  his  heart. 

All  too  still !  —  in  vain  she  pleaded 
For  one  smile,  and  kissed  his  brow  — 

Cold  and  motionless  !  Unheeded 
Were  the  prayers  she  uttered  now. 

Morning  dawned,  but  peace  was  given ; 

Angels  caught  the  half-breathed  prayer 
Her  pure  spirit  bore  to  heaven. 

She  had  found  her  Walter  there. 


POEMS  OF  MllS.  LEACH. 


17 


gut  ^ttHWt. 

TO  MY  FATHER  AND  MOTHER. 

Religion — Sweetest  balm  to  mortals  given. 
Ending — Each  sorrow  with  a  hope  of  heaven. 
Vice  —  Ruineth  man,  religion  cieanseth  sin, 
Restores — And  gives  him  peace  and  joy  within. 
On  ! — Prayerful  Christian,  do  not  repine  ; 
Blest — Heavenly  visions  fill  thy  sonl  divine. 
Endure  —  In  all  things  —  drink  willingly  thy  cap, 
Religion  —  Never-failing  friend,  will  bear  thee  up. 
Tempted — And  sore  beset,  'tis  all  His  will, 
Murmur  not — Religion  yields  comfort  still. 
Ask  from  on  high  the  aid  thou  need'st  so  much  ; 
Yours  be  a  fervent  prayer,  God  answereth  such. 
No  more  let  darkening  clouds  o'ershade  thy  mind, 
Annoy  thy  soul  with  doubts  they  leave  behind. 
Ruin  not  thy  soul,  oh  sinner,  but  the  world  condemn  ; 
Deride  Religion  not — it  is  a  priceless  gem  ! 


18 


S(  A  TTERED  LEA  VES. 


Could  we  do  without  the  baby, 
When  the  day  its  course  hath  run  ; 

Could  we  do  without  her  frolics, 
And  blue  eyes,  so  full  of  fun  1 

When  around  the  cheerful  fireside, 

In  her  Turkish  costume  sweet, 
Happy  in  her  little  antics, 

We  so  oft  together  meet. 

Father's  hope,  and  mother's  pleasure  ; 

Very  dear  to  every  heart — 
Oh  !  she  is  a  priceless  treasure  ; 

With  her  we  can  never  part.  ' 

How  we  love  to  satisfy  her 

In  her  little  whims  and  ways  ! 
Oh  !  she  is  a  joy  forever, 

Subject  fit  for  poet's  lays. 

How  she  laughs,  when  "  Pup"  comes  round  her, 

Pinches  him,  and  pulls  his  tail ! 
Makes  the  little  fellow  flounder, 

Sending  forth  a  piteous  wail. 


POEMS  OF  MliS.  LEACH. 


19 


When  of  play  she's  tired  and  sleepy, 
She  stops  putting  on  her  airs  — 

Soon  we  see  she's  getting  "  creepy 
And  we  make  her  say  her  prayers. 

But  "  0  Lord ! "  is  her  petition — 
This  is  all  her  lips  can  frame ; 

Thus  she,  though  without  contrition, 
Early  calls  upon  His  name. 

Safely  tuck'd  under  the  cover, 

On  her  lips  we  press  "  Good-night !' 

With  the  prayer  that  angels  hover 
O'er  our  little  cherub  bright. 


20 


SCATTERED  LEA  VES, 


"  One  kiss,  dear  girl,  I  humbly  pray/'7 

And  the  moustached  dandy  sidled  up  — 

"  One  kiss,  oh  !  dearest  creature,  say, 
Will  you  not  fill  with  bliss  my  cup  fJ 

The  blushing  maiden  bent  her  head 
Gently  toward  that  hairy  man, 

And  in  her  soft  low  tones  she  said, 
"  Sir,  you  may  kiss  me — if  you  can." 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


21 


f  inw  u  — ; 

In  thy  dark  eyes'  glance  there  rests  a  spell 

Which  binds,  as  if  by  magic  art, 
This  wearied,  restless  soul  to  thine  ; 

Yea,  soul  to  soul,  and  heart  to  heart. 

There  was  a  time,  when  I  was  gay 
And  careless  of  the  prize  Fd  won. 

I  cast  thy  priceless  love  away, 
Nor  realized  what  Fd  done, 

Till  years  of  untold  misery 

Revealed  my  inmost  heart  to  me  ! 

I  fondly  loved  thee — and  for  years 

Have  thought  and  dreamed  of  none  but  thee. 

But,  when  we  m^t,  with  studied  look 
I  shun  thy  gaze,  make  light  replies, 

Fearing,  lest  you  should  learn  the  truth 
From  out  my  ever  tell-tale  eyes. 

Would  I  could  hear  thee  once  again 
Breathe  fervently  those  vows  of  old ! 

For  their  sweet  music  is  enshrined 
Within  my  heart's  most  sacred  fold. 

.  Once,  I  would  list  not  to  thy  tale 

Of  earnest  love,  so  freely  given  ; 
But  now,  could  I  but  know  its  truth, 

To  me,  this  earth  would  be  a  heaven. 


22 


SCATTERED  LEAVES, 


The  noble  reply  of  Mr.  Caldwell,  Sr.,  of  Philadelphia, 
to  a  friend,  who  was  expressing  deep  regret  that  so 
much  of  his  valuable  property  had  been  consumed  by 
fire : 

u  I  give  not  a  thought  to  the  wealth  we  have  lost ) 
Earned  once,  it  can  earned  be  again ; 
But  my  heart  throbs  with  bitterest  grief  that  it  cost 
The  lives  of  those  worthy  young  men. 

"  I  count  the  gold  dross  !  but  this  harrowing  thought 
Strikes  deep  to  the  heart's  inmost  core, 
The  lives  of  those  noble  and  faithful  young  men 
We  can  never,  no,  never  restore  ! n 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


23 


Speak  gently  to  the  weeping  child 
Whose  little  heart  beats  wild  with  sorrow ) 

Yes,  let  your  tones  be  low  and  mild, 
And  bid  it  hope  for  joy  to-morrow. 

Speak  gently  5  tears  will  cease  their  flowing, 

The  little  face  with  smiles  be  glowing. 

Speak  gently  to  the  maiden  fair 

Who  sits  with  wild,  dishevelled  hair, 

Mourning,  with  sad,  despairing  tone, 

Hopes  that  are  fled  and  friends  agonc  — 

And  soon  her  tear- wet  eye  will  seek  thine  own ; 

Will  bless  thee  for  thy  kind  and  friendly  tone. 

Speak  gently  to  the  aged  one 

Whose  locks  are  like  the  frosted  snow ; 
Left  in  the  wide,  wide  world,  alone, 

His  heart  is  buried  deep  in  woe. 
No  more  you  hear  the  bitter,  friendless  moan ) 
The  old  man's  sorrow  will  be  calmly  borne. 

Speak  gently  to  the  stranger  who 
Has  crossed  the  heaving  waters,  blue, 
Mourning  his  distant,  cherished  home, 
Away  across  the  waters'  foam  ; 


24 


S  CA  TIERED  LEA  YES, 


The  stranger's  heart  will  bless  thee  in  its  woe, 
The  stranger's  briny  tears  will  cease  their  flow. 

Oh !  never  let  a  rudely  spoken  word 

From  out  thy  lips  by  mortal  ear  be  heard. 

Yea,  while  you  sojourn  in  this  world  below, 

Always  speak  kindly  to  both  friend  and  foe ; 

For  by  a  single  rash  word  spoken, 

Hopes  have  been  crushed,  and  hearts  been  broken. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


25 


Go,  go,  go ! 
From  early  morn  till  night, 

Go,  go,  go ! 
While  stars  are  shining  bright ; 
When  other  folks  are  sleeping 

Upon  their  beds  of  ease, 
And  little  squirrels  are  creeping 

To  homes  among  the  trees  — 
In  weather  warm  and  dry, 

7Mid  wind,  and  rain,  and  snow, 
I  drag,  until  I  almost  wish 

My  span  of  life  was  o'er. 

Go,  go,  go ! 
My  labor  never  ends — 

Go,  go,  go  ! 
To  strangers  and  to  friends  ; 
I  go,  for  all  their  sakes, 

To  her  who  has  the  fever, 
To  him  who  has  the  aches, 

And  to  the  base  deceiver. 
I'm  going  eternally, 


26 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


My  labor  never  flags  — 
None  knows,  but  he  who  bears  them, 
The  weight  of  saddle-bags. 

Go,  go,  go  ! 
Till  almost  out  of  breath, 

Go,  go,  go  ! 
Till  sick  and  tired  to  death. 
"When  social  pleasures  woo  me 

To  the  cheerful  fireside, 
Out  in  the  dark  and  gloomy  night 

I  must  prepare  to  ride. 
Then,  phantoms  light  and  airy 

Go  flitting  through  my  brain  5 
In  fact,  I  feel  too  weary 

To  e'er  go  out  again. 

Go,  go,  go  ! 
With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 

Go,  go,  go  ! 
With  pain  in  heart  and  head. 
I  lay  me  down  to  slumber, 

But  ere  I  close  my  eyes, 
I  hear  a  dreadful  lumber  — 

"  The  doctor  ! "  some  one  cries  5 
Then  out  of  bed  I  tumble, 

Half  frozen  and  half  dressed  ; 
But  must  not  fret  or  grumble 

Because  I  get  no  rest. 


POEMS  OF  MUS.  LEACH. 


27 


Go,  go,  go ! 
How  few  the  joys  I  see — 

Go,  go,  go ! 
From  sorrow  never  free. 
My  jaded  beast  seems  asking 

A  short  reprieve  from  pain  ; 
Oh  !  will  I  ne'er  be  basking 

In  freedom's  smile  again  ? 
I  envy  the  old  farmer, 

Who  rises  with  the  light, 
Or  the  pale  college  student 

Who  burns  the  lamp  by  night. 

Go,  go,  go ! 
At  every  one's  behest  — 

Go,  go,  go  ! 
In  fact,  I  get  no  rest  5 
To  poverty's  drear  abode, 

To  the  arrogant,  rich  and  proud, 
And  see  the  young,  as  well  as  the  old, 

Asleep  in  their  snowy  shroud. 
I  go  at  every  time  and  place, 

And  in  all  sorts  of  weather, 
Until  I  wonder  if  they  think 

My  skin  7s  as  thick  as  leather  ? 

Go,  go,  go ! 
From  night  till  early  morn — 
Go,  go,  go ! 


26 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


All  wearied  and  worn. 

No  kindred  heart  with  sympathy 

And  pity  now  is  glowing, 
That  I  forever  must  keep  up 

This  everlasting  going. 
But  oh,  I  know,  too  certainly  — 

Which  makes  me  quite  forlorn — 
If  I  continue  thus  to  go, 

That  I  will  soon  be  gone. 


roUMJS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


29 


I  wandered  by  old  ocean's  side, 
Its  waves  were  murmuring  low  ; 

They  told  of  gems  deep,  deep  beneath, 
Flashing  with  radiant  glow. 

I  sat  me  down  to  think  upon 

Their  story  — if  'twere  true. 
Could  gems  of  countless  value  lie 

Far  7neath  its  waters  blue  ? 

I  doubted  still  —  when  suddenly 

A  crested  wave  rose  high ; 
It  burst,  and  from  it  came  a  maid, 

With  beauteous  brow  and  eye. 

The  white  spray  robed  her  matchless  form, 

Her  brow  wore  jewels  rare  ; 
And  diamonds  decked  her  snow-white  arm, 

And  pearls  her  flowing  hair. 

She  moved  toward  me,  and  I  felt 

Her  glorious  image  shine 
Upon  my  heart,  and  low  I  knelt 

To  worship  at  her  shrine. 


30 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


I  told  her  of  my  princely  home. 

Of  my  possessions  wide, 
And  wooed  the  sea-nymph  to  become 

My  lov'd  and  cherished  bride. 

Like  music  to  my  raptured  ear 

Came  soft  tones,  rich  and  low, 
And,  if  an  earthly  being  spoke 

Or  angel,  did  I  know. 

The  world  may  hold  bright  charms  for  thee, 
Stranger ,  my  home  is  in  the  sea, 

Whose  waves  are  white  with  dashing  foam, 
And  well  I  love  my  ocean  home. 

I  have  an  ocean  lover,  sir, 

Who  wins  me  to  be  dutiful ; 
He  braids  the  sea-gems  in  my  hair, 

And  tells  me  I  am  beautiful. 

'He  calls  me  '  Water  Lily/  fair, 

My  eyes  to  lustrous  stars  compare  ; 

I'd  rather  list  his  tender  words, 

Than  own  the  wealth  of  earth-born  lords. 

1 A  coral  palace  for  me  waits, 

Adorned  with  glittering  pearly  gates; 
A  chosen  band  both  watch  and  pray, 
When  I  have  been  too  long  away. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


31 


"  Now  stranger,  I  must  say  adieu  ; 

I  know  I've  been  too  long  with  you. 
Remember  not  the  words  youVe  said. 
An  oh  !  forget  the  Ocean  Maid." 

She  stepped  upon  the  glistening  wave, 
Her  eye  beamed  with  a  radiant  light, 

Then  gracefully  she  bent  her  head, 
And  quickly  vanished  from  my  sight. 

Queen  of  the  sea  !  my  ocean  love  ! 

Long  months  have  passed  since  thus  we  met; 
Still  true  to  thee  my  heart  doth  prove  — 

Oh  no  !  I  never  can  forget ! 


32 


SCATTERED  LEAVES, 


%\\m  PM*  §00t£- 

These  little  half-worn  boots  to  me 
Are  dearer  far  than  paltry  gold  ; 

In  memory's  mirror  now  I  see 
A  blue-eyed  brother,  four  years  old, 

Whose  little  feet  first  pressed  the  sole, 
Who  boasted  of  his  first-rate  leather. 

And  strutted  forth,  with  courage  bold, 
To  face  the  storm  and  windy  weather. 

Well  I  remember,  at  the  age 

Ere  infancy  to  boyhood  shoots, 
His  father  made  him  old  and  sage 

By  bringing  home  a  pair  of  boots. 

But  many  snows  have  slept  upon 

The  feet  these  boots  so  oft  have  covered  ; 

Death  claimed  our  noble  little  one  — 

Blasted  the  hopes  that  round  him  hovered. 

I  could  not  bear  a  stranger's  hand 
Should  cast  them  carelessly  aside  ; 

Though  he  is  in  a  brighter  land, 
He  was  our  darling  and  our  pride. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH, 


33 


Perhaps  when  years  shall  come  and  go, 
My  spirit  will  have  gone  to  rest, 

Although  this  throbbing  head  lies  low, 
And  all  pulseless  be  my  breast. 

Oh  !  if  you  chance  to  come  upon 
This  little,  rusty,  half- worn  boot, 

Then  think  of  him,  forever  gone, 
And,  though  'twill  not  your  fancy  suit, 

If  covered  o'er  by  web  and  rust, 

Perhaps  'twill  some  sweet  thoughts  awake  j 
With  gentle  hands  remove  the  dust, 

And  drop  a  tear  for  Robbie's  sake. 


34 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Yes,  the  flower  which  bloomed  so  brightly, 

But  at  dawn  of  morning  light 
Drooped  and  withered,  ere  the  watches 

Closed  upon  another  night, 
By  Death's  ruthless  hand  was  taken, 

As  if  only  to  us  lent, 
Ere  its  leaflets  had  expanded, 

Or  its  fragrant  sweetness  spent. 

How  the  little  ones  will  miss  her, 

Though  we  watch  with  tender  care 
All  their  little  wants  and  wishes, 

They  will  miss  their  mother  dear. 
Oh  !  there's  no  one  like  a  mother  ! 

Her  soft  hand  soothed  all  their  pain, 
But  her  kiss  of  warm  affection, 

They  will  never  feel  again. 

We  will  miss  her,  who  have  known  her 

As  a  sister  and  a  friend ; 
But  to  him  who  long  hath  loved  her, 

Grief  will  never  know  an  end. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


35 


Weeks  and  months,  yes,  years  will  vanish, 

And  all  else  may  be  forgot  ; 
Time  can  never,  never  banish 

Thoughts  of  one  dear  sacred  spot, 

Where  she  lies,  so  calmly  sleeping, 

Knowing  naught  of  grief  or  care  — 
Though  we  mourn  with  bitter  weeping, 

Mourning  cannot  reach  her  there. 
For  her  spirit,  gently  basking 

In  the  Saviour's  loving  smile, 
Cannot  dream  of  earthly  sorrow, 

And  is  free  from  earthly  guile. 

He  will  miss  her  smiling  welcome, 

He  will  miss  her  in  her  chair  ; 
But  far  more  than  all  will  miss  her 

At  the  hour  of  evening  prayer. 
Where — around  the  sacred  altar  — 

They  so  oft  together  met, 
Happy  in  each  other's  presence  ; 

Would  that  they  were  happy  yet ! 

And  when  homeward  he  is  turning, 
With  a  slow  and  heavy  tread, 

A  moment  he  will  wildly  dream, 
That  "  Nora"  is  not  dead, 

And  in  vain  will  watch  the  windows, 
As  he  slacks  his  weary  pace, 


36 


SCATTERED  LEAVES, 


But  to  catch  one  gleam  of  sunshine 
From  that  dear,  familiar  face. 

But  no  wife  is  there  to  greet  him  — 

None  to  speak  a  cheering  word. 
For  his  loved  one's  voice  is  silent, 

And  will  nevermore  be  heard. 
Yes,  'tis  heard  by  bands  of  angels, 

Chanting  the  Immortal  Psalm, 
Joining  in  the  blissful  chorus, 

Hallelujah  to  the  Lamb  ! 

Weep  not !    Nora's  home  is  brighter, 

Though  by  life-storms  wildly  tossed ; 
The  rare  jewel  of  her  spirit 

Was  too  precious  to  be  lost. 
Let  this  be  our  consolation  — 

Ties  which  here  are  rudely  riven, 
Free  the  loved  one  from  temptation, 

Bind  us  closer  still  to  heaven. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


37 


If  I  have  cast  one  shade  of  grief 

Across  thy  furrowed  brow, 
Father,  forgive  thy  erring  child, 

And  love  me,  even  now. 

I  would  not  grieve  thee,  father,  no  — 

And  give  that  bosom  pain, 
Nor  slight  increase  the  weight  of  woe 

Which  presses  on  thy  brain. 

Thy  spirit  chafes  beneath  its  load  — 

Thine  is  a  bitter  lot ! 
But  thy  afflictions  come  of  God ) 

Dear  father,  murmur  not. 

I  know  thy  spirit  longs  for  rest, 

And  both  by  night  and  day, 
Bright  angels  come  with  glittering  wings 

To  beckon  thee  away. 

Stay,  father,  stay  !  for  well  I  know 

That  thy  devoted  wife 
Would,  were  it  in  her  power  to  ease 

Thy  suffering,  give  her  life. 


33 


SCATTERED  LEAVES, 


Stay,  father,  stay  !  no  more  repine  — 
Stay,  for  'tis  God's  decree  — 

Soon  from  this  bondage  here  on  earth, 
He'll  set  thy  spirit  free. 

In  happier  climes  thou'lt  surely  dwell  ■ — 

A  bright,  celestial  place  — 
Be  like  thy  Saviour,  loved  so  well, 

And  see  Him  face  to  face. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


39 


OR, 

A    TALE     OF  TREACHERY. 

It  rains  !    Thank  God;  it  rains  to-day  ! 

Why,  why  this  bitter  tear  ?  — 
But  no  one  knows,  or  cares,  the  way 

I  spend  my  moments  here. 

HI  draw  my  snowy  curtains  down, 

And  turn  the  blinds  again  — 
Close  take  my  seat  where  naught  can  drown 

The  pattering  of  the  rain. 

This  dear  old  letter !    To  my  heart 

I  press  it,  wet  with  tears ; 
It  speaks  of  happy,  blissful  hours, 

In  the  long  by-gone  years. 

Strange,  that  I  thought  it  with  the  rest, 

When  in  the  glowing  grate 
I  dashed  them  !  in  my  heaving  breast 

Was  naught  but  vengeful  hate. 

JTis  heaven  to  read  his  lines  once  more  — 
My  yearning  heart  doth  dwell 


4(1 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


On  every  soul-impassioned  word 
His  tongue  could  speak  so  well. 

This  dear  familiar  hand  doth  wake 

Remembrance  of  the  past ; 
How  long  it  takes  a  heart  to  break ! — 

But  it  does  break  —  at  last. 

I  do  but  dream  !    In  vain,  in  vain, 

I  would  recall  the  hours, 
When  life  was  joyous ;  free  from  stain 

My  heart  as  summer  flowers  ; 

When  Ernest  wooed  me,  and  I  gave 

My  heart  into  his  care  — 
For  he  was  noble,  true  and  brave, 

And  honored  everywhere. 

But  I  recall  the  bitter  change 

Which  wore  my  life  away. 
And  oh !  I  blamed  him ;  strange,  how  strange, 

That  I  could  seem  so  gay, 

And  be  betrothed  to  Edward  ere 

A  week  has  passed,  since  we 
Learned  that  a  blue-eyed  Southern  girl 

His  fair-haired  bride  would  be ! 

That  still  he  cherished  thoughts  of  me, 
A  sister,  kind  and  true, 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


41 


And  I,  poor  dupe,  did  what  Fd  now 
Give  millions  to  undo. 

Our  wedding  day  was  named  a  month 

Before  he  would  be  home  ; 
It  seemed  I  could  not  live  and  see 

Another  with  him  come. 

And  Edward  loved  me  5  'twas  enough ) 
My  proud  heart  now  was  crushed, 

And  its  wild  yearnings  evermore 
Must  in  my  heart  be  hushed. 

He  gaily  smiled  and  said,  "  We'll  take 

Our  brother  by  surprise  f 
'Twas  but  a  moment,  but  I  saw 

A  demon  in  his  eyes, 

But  never  dreamed  such  black  deceit 

Could  stain  a  human  soul. 
Alas  !  could  I  have  known  my  fate, 

This  story  were  untold. 

Our  wedding  day,  at  last,  dawned  bright ; 

Each  vied,  in  rich  array, 
To  deck  my  form  in  snowy  white, 

And  garlands  bright  and  gay ; 

Placed  flashing  gems,  with  gentle  hand, 
Upon  my  aching  brow  5 


42 


SCATTERED  LEAVES, 


Naught  knew  that  happy,  joyous  band, 
Naught  of  that  broken  vow. 

They  told  me  a  light  in  my  eye  beamed  forth, 
They  had  never  seen  there  before  ; 

How  little  they  dreamed  'twas  the  light  of  my  soul 
Dying  out,  to  return  nevermore ! 

The  hand  he  clasped  was  cold  .as  death  — 

He  kissed  a  cheek  of  snow, 
White  as  the  fragile  orange  wreath 

That  trembled  on  my  brow. 

'Twas  midnight.    Mirth  was  at  its  height  — 

Still,  still  the  dance  went  on  — 
Edward  looked  proud  of  me  —  and  I  — 

Thought  of  the  absent  one. 

Just  then  a  full-toned,  manly  voice, 

Fell  on  my  list'ning  ear. 
*Twas  he  !  'twas  Ernest !  Where  his  bride  ? 

My  poor  heart  throbbed  with  fear. 

I  met  his  first  reproachful  glance  — 

That  look  of  anguish  wild  5 
The  flash  of  triumph  Edward  gave, 

So  proudly,  as  he  smiled ; 

As  Ernest  bent  and  whispered  low, 
"Oh!  Lilian,  why  this  change? 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


43 


Another's  bride  !  Great  God  !  this  blow 
Doth  make  me  wild ! — How  strange  !" 

"  Ernest  !"    'Twas  all  that  I  could  gasp  : 
That  letter,  stained  with  tears, 
I  pressed  into  his  eager  grasp  — 
His  face  revealed  his  fears. 

Forth  from  the  throng  forever  p  assed 

My  idol — yet  to  learn 
A  brother's  treachery,  and  how  deep, 

How  fierce,  revenge  could  burn. 

And  never  since  that  festal  hour 

Have  I  beheld  his  face ; 
He  wrote  —  he  feared  to  trust  himself 
Near  our  old  try  sting-place  — 

Near  to  the  flowers  and  favorite  books 

We  had  together  loved, 
"When  our  young  hearts  beat  high  with  hope, 

Since  hope  was  all  removed. 

Afraid  to  trust  himself  to  see 

Lilian  another's  bride ; 
Afraid,  afraid,  lest  brother's  hand 

In  brother's  blood  be  dyed. 

They  tell  me  Ernest  treads  the  earth 
A  lone  and  silent  man, 


44 


SC  ATT  Ell  ED  LEAVES. 


Far  from  the  laud  that  gave  him  birth, 
Life's  spring-time  scarce  began. 

And  I,  like  an  imprisoned  bird, 
Still  beat  my  drooping  wing 

Against  my  glittering  cage  — 
Sad  is  the  song  I  sing. 

This  dear  old  letter  hath  to-day 
The  buried  shaft  withdrawn, 

And  left  agape  the  bleeding  wound, 
As  in  the  long  by-gone. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LLACH. 


45 


The  tiny  birdling  twitters  first 

His  sweet,  short  notes,  nor  sings  he  long, 
Until,  encharmed  by  Nature's  voice, 

Pours  forth  his  thrilling  notes  of  song. 

All  things  change  !    The  beauteous  flower 

Was  but  a  tiny  bud  at  first. 
Until  a  gentle  silvery  shower 
Inclined  its  velvet  leaves  to  burst. 

I,  too,  am  changed,  for  we  have  met  — 
Nor  can  that  meeting  I  forget ; 
But  tremblingly  await  my  doom  — 
For  love  has  budded,  and  in  bloom. 


46 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


I  saw  her  when  the  flush  of  health 

Was  bright  on  brow  and  cheek, 
Ere  Time,  with  silver-tinted  threads, 

Her  locks  began  to  streak. 
Of  that  unbroken  household 

She  was  the  mother-queen — 
All  seemed  to  honor  and  obey, 

And  on  her  love  to  lean. 

When  sickness  robbed  her  cheek  of  bloom, 

And  that  loved  eye  of  light, 
I  saw  her  lie,  unmurmuring, 

Helpless,  and  wan,  and  white  ; 
While  anxious  hearts  beat  tenderly, 

Nursing,  with  ceaseless  care ; 
Each  striving  to  contribute 

To  her  happiness  a  share. 

While  there's  a  true  pulse  left  to  beat, 

Can  I  forget  the  day  ? 
Patient  and  pure,  with  voice  so  sweet, 

At  noon  she  dying  lay. 
Loved  forms  had  gathered  round  her, 

The  last  farewell  been  given, 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


47 


Ere  angel-hands  had  crowned  her 
Victorious — for  heaven. 

The  bowed  form  of  her  husband 

Who  in  life  had  loved  her  well. 
Too  plainly  spoke  of  grief  so  deep, 

Language  would  fail  to  tell. 
Faithful  and  ever  true  to  him. 

Of  his  own  life  a  part  — 
None  knew  but  God  the  agony 

Of  that  lone;  widowed  heart. 

The  gentle  girl  who  for  long  months 

Had  soothed  with  loving  touch 
Her  aching  limbs  and  throbbing  brow  — 

Nor  could  she  do  too  much 
For  one  who,  from  her  infancy, 

Had  been  so  good  and  kind  5 
Almost  too  great  her  agony 

For  body  and  for  mind. 

And  one  was  there,  whose  manly  form 

Seemed  all  convulsed  with  pain 
At  the  dread  thought,  his  mother's  face 

He  ne'er  should  see  again. 
Unnerved,  he  leaned  against  her  breast, 

While  great  sobs  shook  his  frame, 
Calling  in  deep,  heart-stricken  grief, 

On  that  loved  mother's  name. 


48 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


In  her  stead  he  would  have  battled 

With  the  grim  monster,  Death ! 
It  seemed  as  if  he  almost  caught 

His  mother's  dying  breath. 
And  one — her  mother's  image — knelt 

And  begged  her,  as  she  lay, 
To  fold  her  arms  about  her 

In  the  old  loving  way  ; 

Only  once  more  to  feel  then*  touch, 

As  in  the  happy  past, 
Which,  as  a  child,  she  prized  so  much ; 

But  ah !  it  was  the  last. 
We  followed  her,  with  solemn  tread, 

To  the  cold  and  silent  grave  5 
Where  sweet  flowers,  she  had  planted, 

Over  her  dust  will  wave. 

Her  place  on  earth  is  vacant, 

And  we  look  for  her  in  vain ; 
But  she  will  still  forever 

In  our  fond  hearts  remain. 
Oh  !  angel-crowned  and  happy  ! 

May  we  to  God  resign, 
Submitting,  hoping,  praying, 

Our  last  end  be  like  thine ! 


POEMS  OF  MES.  LEACH. 


49 


I've  seen  the  proudest  eye  grow  wild, 

And  incoherent  words  escape 
Pale  lips,  that  told  a  tale  of  love 

Three  years  ago  —  oh  !  curse  the  grape  ! 

Fve  seen  those  same  lips  tight  compressed, 
For  fear  of  words  while  flushed  with  wine, 

That  gently  quivered,  years  ago, 

While  being  pressed,  in  love,  to  mine. 

I've  often  seen  his  large  dark  eye 

With  borrowed  radiance  brightly  shine ) 

And  oh  !  my  injured  heart  doth  hate 
Most  bitterly  the  luring  wine. 

When  tenderly,  with  words  of  love, 
The  stranger  wooed  me  for  his  bride, 

I  felt  'twould  be  but  bliss  to  walk 
Life's  rugged  pathway  by  his  side. 

With  perfect  confidence  I  spoke, 

"  My  hand  and  heart  are  wholly  thine  f 

But  dearest  ties  are  sundered  wide, 
For  reason  of  the  cursed  wine. 


^0 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Still,  still  I  loved  him  —  for  I  learned 
To  love  him  ere  his  fault  I  knew  — 

And  woman,  when  she  once  doth  love, 
Is  ever  constant,  ever  true. 

I  gave  my  hand  with  frenzied  mind 

To  one  who  wealth  and  fame  could  boast, 

And  he  is  always  good  and  kind  — 
But  'tis  not  Bernard  —  I  am  lost ! 

A  cherub  bright  adorns  our  home, 
With  clustering  curls  and  sunny  eyes ; 

His  welcome  was  a  shower  of  tears, 
His  cradle  song  a  wreath  of  sighs  ; 

And  little  does  the  father  know, 

"Whose  name  our  baby-darling  bears  ; 

Or  else  the  bitter  knowledge  would 

Soon  change  the  smile  he  always  wears. 

We  call  him  Bernie,  and  I  say 
'Tis  a  name  I  fancied  long  ago  — 

He  smiles,  and  lets  me  have  my  way , 
Oh  !  would  that  I  could  love  him  more  ! 

And  now,  to  bind  my  soul  to  earth, 

My  boy  is  but  a  single  tie, 
Or  else  'twould  be  my  earnest  wish 

To  lean  on  Bernard's  breast  and  die. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACII. 


CI 


Ero  morn's  first  beam  lights  up  the  skies. 
All  hushed  the  buzzing  of  the  flics, 
I  open  wide  my  drowsy  eyes  — 
To  think  of  thee. 

All  through  the  bright  or  cloudy  day, 
If  with  the  gloomy  or  the  gay, 
With  sweet  relief  I  turn  away  — 
To  think  of  thee. 

When  night's  dark  mantle  shades  the  earth, 
When  tired  of  revelry  and  mirth, 
I  count  all  but  of  little  worth— 
To  thoughts  of  thee. 

Why  this  is  so  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  when  in  dreamland's  flowery  dell, 
More  than  aught  else  I  love  too  well — • 
To  think  of  thee. 


52 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


WUtSnm  at  MA; 

OR,    THE    OLD    MAN'S  BRIDE. 
WRITTEN  AT  THE  AGE  OF  FIFTEEN. 

Solitary  and  alone  I  roamed  the  old  house  o'er  and  o'er, 
Half- affrighted,  well  remembering  many  a  tale  of  an- 
cient lore. 

Not  a  single  sound  was  borne  me,  wandering  through 

those  halls  of  pride 
And  my  heart  was  filled  with  sorrow  —  for  I  was  an  old 

man's  bride. 

Rich  and  costly  were  the  objects  constantly  before  my 
eye, 

Yet  my  heart  was  very  weary,  and  I  almost  wished  to  die. 
The  grim  old  figures  on  the  wall  gazed  silently  on  me, 
And  seemed  by  looks,  if  not  by  words,  to  mock  my 
misery. 

My  friends  had  left  me  to  my  fate ;  they  thought  me 
happy  now, 

Since  velvet  robes  enwrapped  my  form,  and  diamonds 

decked  my  brow ; 
They  little  thought  the  smiles  were  false,  when  in  that 

throng  so  gay  ; 
And  when  alone,  a  flood  of  tears  soon  washed  those 

smiles  away. 


POEMS  OF  UBS.  LEACH. 


53 


Amid  that  happy,  joyous  throng,  my  heart  no  pleasure, 
knew, 

For  haunting  visions  filled  my  brain  of  one  too  surely 
►true ; 

A  pale,  sad,  pleading  face,  looked  wildly,  tearfully  in 
mine, 

But  hopelessly  I  murmured  low — Oh  no!     I  am  not 
thine ! 

I  would  not  give  my  hand  to  one  whose  love  was 
wealth  untold, 

But  madly,  recklessly,  I  sold  myself  for  glittering  gold ! 
And  now,  the  old  man's  fond  caress,  his  proud  and 

flattering  smile, 
I  all  endure;  the  smile  return,  yet  suffer  all  the  while. 

The  bitter,  burning  tears  of  grief  I  vainly  strive  to  hide, 
And  desolation  fills  my  breast;  for  Fm  an  old  man's 
bride. 

Oh !  were  I  only  free  again,  as  free  as  I  have  been, 
Fd  wed  the  one  my  heart  holds  dear,  and  not  be  ruled 
by  "tin." 


54 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Hail !  hail !  all  hail,  thou  blest  and  glorious  day  ! 

I  haste,  my  lyre,  to  strike  thy  silent  strings. 
Sweep,  sweep  the  volume  of  thy  song  away  ! 

Spread  the  glad  tidings  swift  as  angels7  wings. 
Hail,  glorious  day  !   A  State,  uprising,  claims 

The  people's  rights  —  defies  a  tyrant's  power. 
Shout,  shout  aloud  our  gallant  leader's  name  ! 

Thanks  be  to  God  for  this  auspicious  hour ! 

All  nature  wears  her  loveliest,  sweetest  smile, 

The  brilliant  sun  takes  a  more  gorgeous  hue, 
The  birds  trill  forth  their  sunniest  lays  the  while, 

The  skies  assume  a  deeper,  richer  blue. 
Roll  back,  ye  clouds,  big  with  a  nation's  prayer ! 

Burst  out,  glad  sunshine  !    Sing,  ye  stars,  for  joy  ! 
And  clap  your  hands,  ye  hills !  all,  all  things  share. 

One  universal  anthem  our  glad  tongues  employ. 

This  day  long  looked  for,  prayed  for,  here  at  last ! 

Oppressed,  down-trodden,  we  our  part  have  borne ; 
Back  !  back,  behind  us,  oh  thou  bitter  Past ! 

Sixteen  years  long  the  oppressor's  rod  we've  borne, 
Like  the  poor  captive  Israelites,  to  writhe  and  mourn. 

A  brave  and  loyal  people  !  God  did  the  victory  give ; 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


55 


Success  has  crowned  our  efforts.    Yes,  the  die  is  cast. 

Our  honored  Governor,  long  may  he  live 
To  guide  the  helm  of  state  !    We're  saved  at  last! 

Let  Z.  B.  Vance  resound  from  sea  to  sea  ! 

From  hill-top  and  from  plain  the  echo  come. 
Long  chained  in  captive  fetters,  we  are  free 

Exiled  for  years,  we  are  once  more  at  home ) 
And,  while  all  nature  the  glad  anthem  chants, 
We'll  make  the  welkin  ring,  Three  cheers  for  Vance  ! 


56 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


ftf  w  «*. 

THE  LAST  WORDS  OF  A  DYING  FRIEND. 

The  world  is  receding,  heaven  soon  will  appear, 
Methinks  'tis  the  seraphim's  song  that  I  hear; 
A  robe  of  blest  righteousness  waiteth  me  there, 
A  gloriously  beautiful  crown  I  shall  wear. 

The  angels  are  beckoning  my  spirit  away, 
It  breaketh  its  bondage,  no  longer  can  stay; 
IVe  done  with  affliction,  temptation  and  woe, 
My  soul  pants  for  glory ;  oh  now  let  me  go  ! 

This  body,  so  eaten  with  cancerous  sore, 
Arrayed  like  the  angels,  will  suffer  no  more ; 
These  pale  lips,  now  parched  by  the  fever,  will  sing 
Hosannas  to  Jesus,  my  Lord  and  my  King. 

This  frame,  now  so  wasted  by  ravenous  disease, 
All  radiant  will  shine,  while  it  revels  in  ease  ; 
No  longer  will  tear-drops  of  bitterness  flow, 
My  soul  will  be  happy ;  oh  now  let  me  go  ! 

Oh  weep  not  that  Jesus,  in  mercy  and  love, 
Hath  gained  me  a  home  with  the  ransomed  above ; 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


57 


With  God  for  a  father  and  angels  for  friends, 
Where  the  spirit  in  bitterest  anguish  ne'er  bends. 

Oh  !  my  soul  will  delight  to  think  of  you  there  ; 
The  love  of  a  mother  for  children  she  bare 
Is  fervent  in  heaven,  as  pure  as  below ) 
My  Saviour  awaits  me,  oh  now  let  me  go  ! 

No  more  with  low  murmurs  you'll  watch  near  my  bed ; 
Soon  I  will  be  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  dead. 
This  heart,  faintly  throbbing,  will  soon  cease  to  beat, 
Till  gaining  new  life  where  the  glorified  meet. 

Farewell  to  the  loved  ones  I'm  leaving,  farewell ! 
I'm  going,  the  anthems  of  heaven  to  swell. 
The  chill  hand  of  Death  is  on  me  I  know, 
But  "  peace  is  within/   Let  me  go  !  Let  me  go  ! 


58 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


W$x\\\m  Mxvx%  pittas*,  to  m  gtoMtit 

I  long  for  thy  return.    The  hours  roll  on, 
But  silence  whispers  yet,  "  Thou  art  alone  !" 
Oft  in  the  stilly  night,  while  others  rest, 
Pain  racks  my  throbbing  brow,  and  fills  my  breast ; 
Then  thoughts  of  thee  will  sadly,  sweetly  come, 
And  much  I  wish  for  thee  again  at  home. 
I  miss  thy  footstep,  miss  thee  near  my  bed, 
And- thy  dear  hand  laid  kindly  on  my  head. 
As  oft  I  near  thy  sacred  place  of  prayer, 
I  hear  thy  voice  in  anguish  pleading  there  ; 
Then  all  is  still  —  I  find  'twas  not  thy  tone, 
And  silence  whispers  still,  "  Thou  art  alone !" 
Father,  come  home.    Oh !  do  not  long  delay  ; 
Thine  absence  grows  more  dreary,  day  by  day. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


59 


GEORGIE. 

Oh  say,  pretty  birdie  !  say,  how  can  you  be 

So  contented  and  happy  'way  up  in  a  tree, 

With  the  rain  pouring  'round  you  ?    Oh,  pretty  bird,  say. 

I'd  be  almost  afraid  it  would  wash  me  away. 

Here's  mother  half  crazy,  for  fear  dear  papa 
Will  be  thoroughly  drenched  !  and  how  happy  you  are  — 
And  I  must  be  kept  in,  because  of  the  weather, 
While  you  can  stay  out  and  not  dampen  a  feather. 

BIRDIE. 

Why,  Georgie,  you  see  I'm  a  snug  little  fellow, 
'Way  up  in  a  tree,  with  my  big  leaf-umbrella. 
And  should  a  few  rain-drops-  chaDce  on  me  to  get, 
My  feathers  lie  close ;  I  could  hardly  be  wet. 

And,  besides,  what's  the  use  of  complainings  so  sad  ? 
Not  the  rain  you  abuse  — 'tis  your  Maker,  my  lad. 
He  makes  the  rain  fall,  and  the  darkening  clouds  lower. 
The  sun  will  shine  brighter,  though,  after  the  shower. 

When  thunders  are  rolling,  and  light'nings  play  round, 
I  shut  both  my  eyes,  and,  to  keep  out  the  sound, 


GO 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


I  stick  my  head  quickly  right  under  my  wing ) 
And  when  the  storm's  over  more  cheerily  sing, 

This,  this  is  my  song,  which  I  carol  in  glee  — 
In  all  of  life's  tempests,  God  takes  care  of  me. 
So,  whether  on  sea,  or  the  beautiful  land, 
Remember,  my  boy,  we  are  led  by  His  hand. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


61 


gmmXl  to  ttoe  $mti  $mmt} 

Farewell  to  the  sweet  sunny  hopes  of  my  youth, 
When  my  blithe  heart  from  sorrow  was  free ; 

When  I  fancied  the  world  was  a  world  of  truth. 

Yea,  mine  was  a  gay  and  a  joyous  youth ; 
And  I  caroled  gay  songs  in  my  glee. 

Farewell !  for  a  shadow  has  darkened  my  path, 

And  darker  its  gloom  cannot  be  ; 
'Twill  hover  around,  and  I  scarce  can  control, 
While  wild  bitter  thoughts  tumultuously  roll, 

My  passionate  misery. 

Sweet  flowers  have  grown  by  the  wayside  of  life, 

And  I  plucked  them  so  fragrant  and  rare ) 
But  oh  !  they  have  withered,  and  left  not  a  breath, 
To  sweeten  my  life  or  to  soften  my  death, 
Of  its  delicate  fragrance  there. 


62 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


SUGGESTED  BT  A  HANDFUL  OF  BLUE-BFRD  FEATHERS. 

Poor  little  hapless  blue-bird  ! 

Oft  hath  thy  loving  mate 
Chirped  his  sweet  song  to  thee, 

Early  and  late. 

His  eye  hath  gazed  with  glowing  pride 

On  all  thy  golden  glitter, 
And  his  round  bosom  gently  stirred 

To  thy  soft  twitter. 

He  waits  thee  !  longs  for  thy  return, 
Nor  dreams  his  darling's  fate  ; 

His  joy  will  soon  to  sadness  turn, 
Lone,  widowed  mate ! 

When  here  to  seek  thee  he  will  hie, 

This  plumage,  glossy  blue, 
Will  break  his  heart  !    Yes,  here  they  lie, 

But  where  are  you  ? 

Oh  !  thus  in  life,  when  sore  bereft, 
As  through  its  paths  we  rove,  1 

We  find  but  few  the  traces  left 
Of  those  we  love. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


63 


"In  the  city  of  New  York,  during  a  violent  snow- 
storm, a  lovely  young  girl  in  a  state  of  insensibility 
was  found  by  a  gentleman  of  wealth  and  influence,  who 
afterward  educated  and  married  her. " 


3  mw* 

The  accomplished  and  beautiful  lady  of  Hon.  Mr. 

K  ,  on  being  asked  by  a  thoughtless  acquaintance 

why  she  so  much  disliked  wine,  gave  the  following 
touching  reply : 

You  ask  why  I  so  hate  the  wine  ? 

List !  and  HI  tell  you  a  tale  full  true. 
Oh !  had  you  felt  what  I  have  felt, 

Methinks  you'd  hate  and  shun  it  too. 

Once  my  home  was  purely  bright, 

Nestled  mid  a  land  of  flowers ) 
There  I  drew  my  infant  breath  ; 

Quickly  sped  my  childhood  hours. 

The  birds  sang  sweetly  in  the  trees ; 

No  heart  was  happier  than  mine  ; 
The  tempter  came,  as  summer's  breeze, 

The  bright  and  sparkling  ruby  wine. 


64 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


My  mother's  cheek  grew  thin  and  pale ; 

I  wished  that  I  had  ne'er  been  born. 
She  never  murmured  at  her  lot, 

But  bravely  bore  and  struggled  on. 

Mary's  eyes  were  always  wet  — 

Bitterly  of  cold  she  cried, 
Till  her  little  frame  gave  way 

'Neath  her  sorrow,  and  she  died. 

One  stormy  night,  the  snow  fell  fast 
Upon  my  poor,  uncovered  head ; 

With  naught  to  shield  me  from  the  blast, 
I  left  her  corpse  to  beg  some  bread. 

My  mother  lay  by  Mary's  side, 
With  little  Willie  on  her  breast, 

Trying  to  warm  his  frozen  hands, 
And  take,  herself,  a  little  rest. 

I  begged  some  one  to  come  with  care 
And  take  her  little  stiffened  form 
■  From  out  those  walls,  so  damp  and  bare, 
And  lay  it  in  the  grave  so  warm. 

Poor  little  sufferer !  I  knew 

No  more,  since  God  thy  spirit  hath, 
Harsh  words  would  thy  bright  eyes  fill, 
For  reason  of  a  father's  wrath. 


SCATTERED  LEAVES, 


65 


"  Mother,  your  little  Willie's  cold  ! 

Here,  hold  my  hand  and  blow  your  breath. 
Your  eyes  are  open,  mother,  speak ! 

Oh !  tell  your  Willie,  is  it  death  ? 

"  Dear  mother,  hold  my  little  head, 

And  press  my  heated,  throbbing  brow  5 
You  said  we  all  would  soon  be  dead  — 
Oh  !  wake,  sweet  mother !  kiss  me  now  ! 

"  Mother,  oh  do  not  sleep  so  long  ! 
Sis  Lillian  will  soon  be  home." 
I  sprang  toward  him,  and  he  said, 
"  Oh !  mother,  mother,  Lilly's  come  !" 

I  heard  the  lonely  winds  around, 

Mournfully  and  sadly  sighing; 
Mother  and  Mary  both  were  dead, 

And  Willie  too,  I  feared,  was  dying. 

We  wrapped  his  little  shivering  form 

In  blankets  ;  o'er  and  o'er  again 
We  tried  his  stiffened  limbs  to  warm ; 

We  tried,  but  ah !  'twas  all  in  vain. 

He  kissed  me,  when  I  took  him  up, 

Saying,  "0  Lilly  !  where's  the  bread?" 

I  placed  the  food  between  his  lips  5 

He  moved  them  once,  and  then  —  was  dead  ! 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


Poor  little  one,  no  snowy  shroud 
Is  folded  round  thy  fragile  frame. 

With  thoughts  like  those,  I  cried  aloud, 
Knowing  no  person  by  their  name. 

I  sought  in  vain  ;  they  passed  me  by, 
With  hurried  step  and  careless  tone. 

I  sank  upon  a  bank  of  snow, 
With  one  wild  agonizing  groan. 

Kind  Heaven  sent  a  friend  to  me. 

A  stranger  came  my  hand  to  clasp  ; 
With  gentle  voice  he  bade  me  rise  — 

Til  ne'er  forget  his  friendly  grasp. 

I  sprang  toward  my  home  once  more. 

He  said  he'd  give  us  fire  and  bread. 
I  kissed  his  hand,  and  o'er  and  o'er 

Called  down  rich  blessings  on  his  head. 

We  reached  the  door  —  but  not  a  sound 
I  heard,  until  sweet  Willie  said, 

Oh  !  mother,  mother,  speak  to  me  ! 
Say  if  you  are,  like  Mary  —  dead." 

Where  Willie  sat,  my  mother  lay, 

Her  cheeks  were  stiff  with  frozen  tears ; 

They  were,  though  few,  and  then  her  last, 
The  bitterest  she  had  shed  for  years. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


67 


J ust  then  my  father  staggered  in  ; 

He  looked  around  with  frenzied  air; 
A  shade  of  anguish  crossed  his  brow  — 

They  were  his  victims  lying  there. 

He  knelt  beside  his  injured  wife , 

Chafing  her  cold  hands  with  his  own  ; 

Then  saying  he  was  tired  of  life, 
He  died  without  a  single  groan. 

We  made  them  all  a  lone,  cold  grave. 
And  side  by  side  they  calmly  sleep  5 

I  still,  though  years  have  passed  away, 
In  sadness  for  them  often  weep. 

Yet  think  not  I  am  all  alone ; 

I  now  am  reconciled  to  life. 
A  nobler  bosom  shields  my  own, 

For  I  am  that  kind  stranger's  wife. 

Sir,  my  tale  of  woe  is  done  ; 

My  eyes  are  wet  —  tears  brighten  thine ; 
Now  tell  me,  do  you  understand 

Why  I  abhor  the  sparkling  wine  ? 


08 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


"  The  stars  have  fallen,  little  sis/' 
I  heard  aunt  Chloe  say. 
She  didn't  know  I  heard  her  — 
'Twas  just  the  other  day. 

I  thought  I'd  keep  it  to  myself, 

What  I  intend  to  do  ; 
I'm  going  on  a  journey  soon, 

With  no  one,  sis,  but  you. 

You  must  not  tell  dear  mother, 

Nor  any  living  one, 
I  found  the  place  this  evening, 

I  think,  at  set  of  sun, 

Where,  in  bright  heaps,  they're  lying, 

Our  eager  coming  wait  ; 
For  there  they've  lain  since  heaven 

Oped  wide  its  golden  gate. 

I'll  take  the  market  basket, 
And  you,  the  one  that  Tom 

Made  mother,  for  it  will  be  light 
Upon  your  little  arm. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


69 


We'll  up  and  start  quite  early. 

For  we  will  have  to  go 
Many,  yes,  very  many  times, 

To  get  tliern  all.  you  know. 

We'll  hide  them  in  the  great  blue  chest 
Which  in  the  garret  stands. 

For  'tis  so  heavy,  robbers  can 
Not  move  it  with  their  hands  ; 

Yes,  then  I'm  sure  they  will  be  safe, 

For  there's  a  lock  and  key ; 
And  none  will  be  the  wiser, 

Dear  sis,  but  you  and  me. 

We'll  siring  about  three  dozen, 

A  necklace  for  mamma, 
And  on  her  pure  white  forehead 

We'll  place  our  brightest  star. 

Oh !  she  will  be  the  loveliest 

Our  eyes  have  ever  seen  ; 
For  with  all  that  about  her, 

She'll  look  just  like  a  queen  ! 

We'll  give  ten  to  the  preacher, 
Like  mother,  when  he  came  j 

They  shine  so  much  like  money, 
;Twill  be  the  very  same. 


TO 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


And  to  all  orphan  children 

We'll  send  a  shining  star  ; 
And  those,  too,  who  are  fatherless, 

Dear  sister,  like  we  are. 

Aunt  Ohloe  we  will  buy  a  dress, 

To  rattle  just  like  starch ; 
And  Sambo  '11  sure  to  want  a  star, 

To  carry,  for  his  watch. 

Well !  then  we'll  take  the  others, 
And  haul  them  to  the  cars  ; 

Oh  !  won't  folks  wonder,  when  they  see 
A  wagon-load  of  stars  ! 

<  De  Lor  !  Marse  Charlie  neber  hear 

How  clat  dear  chile  runs  on  — 
Why,  gracious  honey  !  dem  dar  stars 
Fell  long  'fore  you  was  bom  ! 

"  I  bound  you  makes  your  fort'n  yit, 
Shore  as  Fse  frying  fritters  ; 
Dey  alius  tole  dis  nigger,  dough, 
All  am  not  gold  dat  glitters. 

u  Don't  look  so  disfrumcated,  chile  ! 
You's  rich  now  —  alius  wus  ; 
And  ain't  the  fust  dat  ever  seed 
Dere  fort'n  in  de  stars  !'; 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


71 


Ptttf  §t\w. 

It  is  over  !  It  is  over ! 

Death  has  culled  our  sweetest  flower. 
Bright  hopes  did  around  him  hover  ; 

Crushed  and  blasted  in  an  hour  ! 

It  is  over  !  It  is  over  ! 

All  our  tender,  tender  care 
For  our  little  suffering  darling  ! 

Now  we  miss  him  everywhere. 

Miss  him  in  his  little  cradle, 
In  his  frolics,  and  his  play  5 

And  our  hearts  are  yearning  ever 
For  his  presence,  night  and  day. 

It  is  over,  all  our  watching — 
All  the  weariness  and  pain ; 

We  have  lost  our  only  treasure, 
And  we  seek  him  here  in  vain. 

Over,  all  the  restless  tossing 
Of  that  precious  little  head ! 

There  he  lies,  our  one  bright  blossom } 
Yes,  our  little  Delno's  dead. 

Place  white  flowers  on  his  bosom, 
Fold  his  dear  hands  on  his  breast  j 


72 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


After  all  his  hours  of  suffering, 
Let  him  rest !  Oh  !  let  him  rest ! 

Never  more  will  Dellie  scamper, 
With  his  eager,  outstretched  hands, 

Welcoming  his  father's  coming ; 
Now  he  sings  with  angel  bands. 

Never,  when  with  toil  aweary, 

He  returns  at  close  of  day, 
Will  his  joyous,  childish  prattle, 

Chase  dark  clouds  and  cares  away. 

Cold  the  cheek  our  lips  caressing, 
Damp  the  wealth  of  golden  hair, 

Still  the  little  heart's  wild  throbbing, 
Though  so  innocent  and  fair. 

Little  Dclno  is  an  angel ) 
With  the  angels  he  will  wait 

Till  we  cross  the  shining  river, 
Enter  heaven's  pearly  gate. 

Strange,  that  we  forget  while  grieving 
When  Death  comes,  a  thing  like  this : 

Sorrow,  as  if  not  believing 
?Tis  the  gate  to  endless  bliss. 

Oh  !  we  pray  our  Heavenly  Father, 

Strength  this  bitter  stroke  to  bear ; 
Take  us,  when  we  die,  to  heaven. 
We  will  meet  our  Delno  there. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


73 


Oh  thou  wild  and  treacherous  sea  ! 

Calmly  murmuring,  softly  swelling ; 
No  music  in  thy  tone  to  me, 

No  melody  in  all  thy  telling. 

Far  down  beneath  thy  treacherous  waves 
I  see  the  gleam  of  snow-white  fingers  ; 

Down  deep  in  ocean's  coral  caves 
My  Geraldine  still  sadly  lingers. 

Oh  thou  base  and  moaning  sea  ! 

On  thy  bosom,  soft  beguiling, 
Full  of  bright  hopes  then  were  we, 

And  life  was  all  a-smiling. 

Thou  didst  covet  her,  0  sea  ! 

On  her  beauty  thou  wast  gloating. 
See  those  white  arms  stretched  to  me, 

And  her  brown  hair  floating,  floating  ! 

Murmur  low,  and  murmur  kindly, 

Soothe  the  hearts  thou  hast  been  breaking  5 
Those  who  trust  thee  blindly,  blindly, 

May  expect  a  bitter  waking. 

Oh  thou  softly  swelling  sea ! 

Sweet  and  silver-tongued  thy  moaning ) 


74 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


No  infant's  voice  can  sweeter  be, 
But  there  is  no  atoning  ! 

Geraldine  !  my  brown-eyed  maiden, 
Oh  !  come  back,  come  back  to  me 

From  the  depths,  with  rich  gems  laden, 
Of  the  cruel,  treacherous  sea  ! 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


75 


gjtwitatim* 

of  the 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch ! 
Bending  o'er  satin,  in  rags. 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch ! 
Till  every  heart-throb  lags  : 
For  what  is  there  'neath  the  poor  parched  skin, 
To  feed  the  vital  spark  within  ? 
Oh  !  why  so  weary,  wan  and  thin  ? 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch ! 


76 


SCATTERED  LEAVES, 


%1bt  § yittfl  Mtttr. 

I  am  wounded,  brother,  wounded, 
And  I  feel  my  life-blood  chill ; 

Though  my  heart  with  glory  bounded, 
It  must  all  too  soon  be  still. 

Hold  me  on  thy  bosom,  brother, 
Shield  me  from  another  dart  ; 

I  would  have  thee  bear  a  token 
To  the  loved  ones  of  my  heart. 

Tell  my  aged  father,  Bernard, 
?Neath  this  blow  to  humbly  bow  5 

That  I  prayed  for  God  to  bless  him, 
With  the  death-damp  on  my  brow. 

Tell  my  poor  grief-stricken  mother, 

That  the  son  she  nobly  gave 
To  her  country,  prayed  and  blessed  her, 

Ere  he  filled  a  soldier's  grave. 

Draw  your  arm  close  round  me,  comrade  j 

Hold  me  so  I  cannot  move, 
For  this  agony  overwhelms  me  — s 

I  would  speak  of  her  I  love. 

7Tis  my  wife,  so  young  and  guileless ; 
;Tis  my  wife,  so  brightly  fair. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


77 


Take  this  scarf  her  hand  embroidered  — 
Take  this  single  tress  of  hair. 

Do  not  fail  to  take  them,  Bernard  ; 

Give  them  with  thine  own  true  hand. 
Tell  her  I  have  fallen  bravely 

Fighting  for  my  injured  land. 

When  this  eye —  hark  !  brother,  listen  !  — 
Which  in  life  she  loved  for  years, 

Dimmer  grew  —  but  thine  doth  glisten. 
Comrade,  thank  you  for  your  tears  ! 

Say  that  when  the  summons,  brother, 
For  my  soul  came  swiftly  down, 

That  I  longed  to  feel  her  kisses 
Ere  I  slept  beneath  the  ground  5 

Longed  to  clasp  her  to  my  bosom  — 
Memory  brings  a  wailing  cry  — 

But  the  voice  was  firm,  which  bade  me 
For  my  country  live  or  die ! 

Tell  her  I  would  have  her,  brother, 
Take  our  blue-eyed  baby-girl, 

Kiss  away  each  playful  dimple, 

Smoothe  each  clustering,  golden  curl  5 

And,  while  fondling  our  own  darling, 
Tell  her  of  a  father's  grave, 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Far  away,  though  made  by  strangers, 
Yet  among  the  good  and  brave. 

How  my  heart  has,  e'en  in  battle, 
Yearned  to  see  her,  ch  !  so  much ; 

But  once  more  to  hear  her  prattle, 
Once  to  feel  her  baby  touch. 

Must  I  part  with  wife,  and  baby 

Which  can  scarcely  lisp  my  name  I  — 

But  Pd  rather  die  and  leave  them, 
Than  to  lead  a  life  of  shame. 

Oh !  I  feel  her  presence  near  me,  ' 

As  in  blissful  days  of  yore. 
See  !  she  kisses  from  my  forehead 

Locks  she  loves,  all  wet  with  gore. 

But  my  sight  is  failing,  comrade, 
And  my  tongue  is  stiff  with  death  5 

Tell  her  that  I  prayed  to  see  her, 
With  my  latest  dying  breath. 

How  she'll  watch,  and  wait  my  coming, 
With  an  anxious,  throbbing  heart; 

Tell  her  we  will  meet  in  heaven, 
Nevermore  to  live  apart. 

Farewell,  comrade  !  I  am  dying. 

Angels  strew  my  couch  with  flowers  — 
Back  now  to  the  battle,  brother  ! 

Fight !  the  victory  will  be  ours  ! 


rOBMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


79 


pxmtW ! 

LINES  WRITTEN  ON  THE  RECEPTION   OF  A  PACKAGE 
FROM  A  FRIEND. 

Why  was  it  that  you  wrote  "  Farewell ?; 

Upon  the  cover  ? 
And  can  it  be  you  now  rejoice 

That  all  is  over 

Did  you,  while  tracing  that  lone  word 

With  laughing  eye, 
Repeat  the  story  oft-times  heard, 

To  some  one  by  ? 

If  so,  the  heart  I  fondly  prized 

Was  worth  but  naught ) 
If  so,  my  hours  of  happiness 

Were  dearly  bought. 

But  if,  while  tracing  that  lone  word, 

Unbidden  tears 
Thy  dark  eye  dimmed,  as  thoughts  went  back 

To  other  years, 

Then  all  is  well  \  for  I  can  bear 

The  world's  cold  scorn, 
The  hate  of  worlds  defy,  and  still 
Love  on !  love  on ! 


80 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED  TO  MRS.  D.  S.  R' 

With  her  sunny  tresses  clustering  round  her  beauteous 
neck  of  snow. 

And  her  cheek  all  dyed  with  crimson,  like  the  morning's 
richest  glow ; 

Her  orbs,  so  softly  shaded  with  tints  of  heavenly  blue, 
Gleamed  a  shining  light  within  them,  like  the  sunset's 
golden  hue. 

The  lovely  maniac  wildly  raves,  and,  kneeling  on  the 
ground, 

Clasps  closely  to  her  bosom  the  newly-covered  mound. 
She  smiles  —  soft  soothes  the  baby,  which  in  its  grave 
doth  lie, 

And  smiles  again,  as  low  she  sings  her  infant  lullaby. 

Her  pure  white  brow,  her  large  dark  eyes,  are  saddened 

o'er  by  grief  — 
Thank  God,  that  in  delusive  dreams  she  finds  a  sweet 

relief ! 

She  starts  !  and  frantically  cries,  in  thrilling  accents  wild, 
As  low  she  bends  above  that  grave,  "  0  God  !  restore 
my  child  !" 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


81 


A  joyous  strain  is  gushing  from  those  lips  of  ruby  red ; 
The  air  is  changed;  and  now  she  chants  a  requiem  for  the 
dead. 

Those  glorious  eyes  are  raised  to  heaven,  she  breathes  a 

fervent  prayer  — 
"0  Father  !  take  me  soon,  to  dwell  with  my  own  darling 

there!" 

Those  beauteous  lips  are  moving,  she  breathes,  "  Father, 
I  come !" 

Bright  angels  are  about  her,  to  waft  her  spirit  home. 
She  meekly  laid  those  death-chilled  hands  upon  her  heav- 
ing breast — 

Without  a  single  struggle,  found  the  maniac  mother's  rest, 


m 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


%  gmiXt  from  Wbtt. 

I'd  plunge  in  the  roaring  cataract. 
And  bathe  in  the  silvery  stream  — 

Td  search  the  depths  of  the  mighty  deep, 
To  view  the  diamond's  gleam. 

Fd  stem  the  foaming  ocean, 

And  battle  with  its  surge  — 
Make  my  home  on  its  restless  billows, 

While  I  list  to  its  mournful  dirge. 

Fd  search  the  richest  mine  of  earth, 
Bring  gems  from  the  jeweled  sea, 

But  for  one  tender,  loving  glance, 
And  a  golden  smile  from  thee ! 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


83 


Two  cherubs,  robed  in  spotless  white  — 

A  vision  fair  to  see  — 
Came  to  me  in  my  dreams,  last  night, 

With  words  of  ecstacy. 

So  beautiful,  so  bright  and  fair, 
On  brow,  and  cheek,  and  wing  5 

And  oh  !  you  should  have  heard  the  air ! 
Such,  seraphs  only  sing. 

Yes,  hand  in  hand  they  came  to  me, 

Angelically  fair, 
Escorted  by  a  royal  band, 

While  anthems  rent  the  air. 

Oh  mother  !  you  who  truly  felt 

That  it  were  death  to  part 
With  the  dead,  new-born  baby 

Pressed  closely  to  your  heart, 

As  vainly,  vainly  you  did  strive  — 

Self-sacrificing  wife  !  — 
For  his,  thy  noble  husband's  sake, 

To  warm  it  into  life. 

And,  mother — you  who  never  knew 
Your  babe  had  seen  the  light, 


84 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Till  its  sweet  little  baby  face 
Was  buried  far  from  sight  — 

Can  tongue  of  mortal  e'er  unfold 

The  agony  you  felt  ? 
Ah  no  !  — but  joy  and  bliss  untold, 

Your  loving  heart  would  melt, 

If  you  could  only  view,  as  I, 

The  radiant,  happy  pair, 
With  azure  eyes,  like  summer  skies, 

And  clustering  golden  hair, 

As,  in  my  midnight  dreams,  they  came 

To  fan  my  fevered  brow, 
And  cool  my  throbbing  temples  !  Still, 

Ah  !  still  in  fancy  now 

I  press  those  baby  lips,  which  ne'er 

Cooed  to  thy  soft  caress, 
And  gaze  into  those  azure  eyes, 

Melting  with  tenderness  5 

As,  bending  low  above  my  couch, 
They  brought  me  dreams  of  rest, 

And  breathed  their  words  of  tenderness, 
For  those  on  earth  loved  best. 

Their  messenger  to  you  I  come, 
Come  with  the  tidings  sweet  5 

Mother,  weep  not !  your  babes  are  safe  - 
Safe  at  the  Saviour's  feet ! 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


85 


SONG  AND  CHORUS. 

I  will  sing  you  a  song,  as  evening  draws  near, 
Of  one  who  down  deep  in  my  heart  is  most  dear  ; 
He  calls  himself  Ploughboy,  noble  and  brave  ! 
He's  proud  as  a  prince,  but  he  works  like  a  slave. 

CHOKUS : 

Then  welcome  sweet  hour  when  labor  is  o'er 5 

I  watch,  as  I  sit  by  my  own  cottage  door, 

And  spy  in  the  distance,  at  twilight  so  cool, 

My  gay,  handsome  Ploughboy,  on  his  iron-gray  mule. 

Let  the  world  scoff  and  sneer,  in  its  arrogant  pride, 
At  his  toil-hardened  hands  and  his  hat-brim  so  wide  5 
It  graces  a  forehead  —  ah  !  fondly  I  love  it !  — 
A  brow  which  the  princes  of  Europe  might  covet. 
Chorus — Then  welcome,  &c. 

Oh !  sweetest  of  blessings,  to  share  in  his  toil, 
And  soothe,  when  he  tires  of  strife  and  turmoil ; 
I  would  rather,  than  own  countless  treasures  untold, 
Have  the  love  of  my  Ploughboy,  gallant  and  bold ! 
Chorus  — Then  welcome,  &c. 


86 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


He's  noble  and  faithful,  he's  tender  and  true, 
So  upright,  he  scorns  any  wrong  thing  to  do ; 
In  honor,  in  virtue,  he  nothing  doth  lack  — 
Puts  his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  he  never  looks  back. 
Chorus — Then  welcome,  &c. 

His  eye,  like  the  eagle's,  is  piercing  and  bright, 
His  clustering  ringlets  as  dusky  as  night  j 
So  regal  a  bearing  but  seldom  you  see, 
And  dearer  than  life  is  my  Ploughboy  to  me. 
Chorus — Then  welcome,  &c. 

If  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  were  rightfully  mine, 
And  all  that  the  mines  of  Golconda  combine, 
I  would  haste,  with  a  blessing  so  tender  and  sweet, 
To  pour  it  all  out  at  my  Ploughboy's  feet. 

Chorus — Then  welcome,  &e. 

Yet  I  feel  'tis  the  richest  of  blessings  below 
To  share  in  his  toil,  while  my  heart's  all  aglow 
With  deep,  fervent  love,  which  no  fonder  can  be, 
And  know  that  my  Ploughboy  is  faithful  to  me. 
Chorus — Then  welcome,  &c. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


87 


SONG  AND  CHORUS. 

Sleep  on,  father,  though  no  marble 

Marks  thy  sacred  resting-place ; 
Naught  on  earth  can  thy  loved  image 

From  thy  daughter's  heart  erase. 
First  the  snow,  and  then  the  daisies, 

Cover  that  sweet  face  from  me , 
Fittest  mantle  for  thy  resting  — 

Emblems  of  thy  purity. 

chorus : 

Unloved  and  alone,  since  thy  sweet  smile  is  gone, 
Free  now  from  earthly  sorrow,  sleep  on,  sleep  on ! 

Summer  skies  have  lost  their  brightness, 

Birds  and  flowers  have  now  no  charm, 
And  my  heart  has  lost  its  lightness, 

For  its  wound  can  find  no  balm. 
Pity,  oh  Thou  tender  Shepherd  ! 

Guide  me  —  gently  lead  aright  — 
To  the  land  of  crystal  waters, 

Where  Thy  presence  is  its  light ! 

Chorus — Unloved  and  alone,  &c. 


83 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Father,  I  no  longer  murmur 

While  I  linger  near  thy  grave ) 
Though  my  sails  are  torn  and  tattered, 

Forth  I  launch  upon  the  wave. 
All  alone,  the  billows  breasting, 

Help  I  crave,  the  way  is  dark  — 
There  will  come  a  time  of  resting, 

Harbor  for  my  little  barque. 

Chorus — Unloved  and  alone,  &c. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


89 


Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  her  to  rest, 
Folding  her  snowy  shroud  light  on  her  breast ; 
Bright  seemed  her  brow  as  an  angel's,  and  fair 
Were  the  soft  ringlets  still  clustering  there. 
Her  blue  eyes,  wide  open,  so  life-like  did  seem, 
A  moment  I  fancied  her  dying  a  dream ; 
But  then  the  reality  burst  on  my  brain  — 
I  turned  from  my  child  to  my  sorrow  again. 
We  gave  a  last  look  to  her  flower-strewn  pall, 
To  her,  the  most  beautiful  flower  of  all  ; 
We  made  her  a  grave  in  our  cold  northern  home, 
And  childless,  in  sunnier  climes  now  we  roam. 
In  memory  still  we  fondly  adore  her, 
Our  beautiful  babe;  our  peeress  Cleora  J 


90 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Ufa  §nxni 

AN  INCIDENT  OP  REAL  LIFE. 

Oh  !  let  me  look  upon  that  face  ! 

Shut  not  the  coffin  lid  ! 
That  boyish  brow,  so  full  of  grace, 

Will  evermore  be  hid. 

Ah  !  is  this  not  some  horrid  dream  — 
Some  nightmare  ?    Doth  my  brain 

Burn  now  with  frenzy's  lurid  fires  ? 
Delusive  hope  !    How  vain  ! 

My  boy,  my  only  boy  !  to  think 

How,  ever  since  the  day 
God  gave  thy  little  tender  form 

To  cheer  thy  mother's  way, 

So  gently  have  I  handled  thee, 
Have  soothed  thy  every  pain ; 

To  keep  my  child  from  suffering, 
Have  racked  my  weary  brain. 

Yes,  through  the  long,  hot  summer's  day 
I  toiled  and  prayed,  while  Hope 

Held  out  her  white  hands,  whispering 
I  would  not  always  grope 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


91 


In  darkness,  but  the  day  would  come 

When  life  would  pulse  again 
In  these  poor  veins,  and  I  look  up, 

Nor  dread  the  face  of  men. 

For  oh  !  it  was  not  always  thus ) 

Once  Lenard  was  so  good 
And  noble,  brave  and  honest ! 

'Gainst  evil  long  withstood, 

Till  lured  by  sparkling  wine,  to  sip 

Its  poison  to  the  dreg  $ 
And  Edwie  oft,  with  quivering  lip, 

Would  food  and  fuel  beg. 

Lady,  thy  tears  are  falling  fast ; 

Strong  man,  thy  head  is  bowed, 
As  pityingly  you  look  upon 

My  darling  in  his  shroud. 

This  summer,  since  wee  Eva  came 

To  bless  my  cheerless  life, 
I  tried  to  act  so  none  could  blame, 

And  be  a  better  wife. 

And  Edwie  was  so  proud  of  her, 
And  smiling,  often  kissed  her, 

Saying,  in  tones  so  full  of  love, 
"  From  heaven  came  little  sister." 

Through  rain  and  sunshine,  hail  and  snow, 
We  trudged  for  wood  and  water, 


92 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


And  up  the  long  steep  hills  I  bore 
My  boy,  and  baby-daughter. 

For  he  was  weak  and  pale  from  want  j 
His  dark  eyes  oft  did  glisten, 

While  clutched  by  hunger,  spectre  gaunt, 
For  a  father's  voice  would  listen. 

I've  seen  him  wait  with  bated  breath 
"While  that  loud  step  drew  nearer 

And  every  hour  until  his  death 
My  brave  sweet  boy  grew  dearer. 

So,  through  life's  rough  and  stony  way, 
We  all  were  linked  together ; 

Together  braved  the  howling  storm, 
The  blast  and  wintry  weather. 

But  last  night,  as  I  started  forth, 

It  was  so  cold  outside  — 
The  keen  wind  blowing  from  the  north, 

And  lowering  cloud  beside  — ■ 

I  left  my  precious  ones,  to  face 
The  dark  and  threatening  storm, 

With  nothing  but  this  threadbare  shawl 
To  shield  my  tottering  form. 

I  did  not  dream,  0  God  !  the  fate 

Of  him,  my  noble  one ; 
Saddest  of  all  sad  words,  u  Too  late  !  " 

Alas  !  I  am  undone ! 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


93 


I  bade  him  close  the  door,  and  keep 

The  whistling  tempest  out, 
And  watch  his  little  sister  creep 

Around,  and  all  about. 

I  hastened  on  —  I  almost  ran  — 

My  pail  of  water  drew, 
And  homeward  quickly  turned  again  : 

My  bare  feet  almost  flew, 

As  on  the  night-air,  shrill  and  wild, 

I  heard  a  childish  cry, 
And  soon  in  flames  I  saw  my  child, 

And  knew  that  he  must  die. 

0  sir  !  but  let  me,  let  me  look 
On  that  sweet  face  again, 

So  angel-like  !  not  strange  God  took 
My  darling  from  his  pain. 

No  !  do  not  take  my  baby  girl ! 

Lady,  I'd  give  her  thee  — 
My  wildwood  flower  !  my  precious  pearl ! 

What  else  can  comfort  me  ? 

1  know  she  would  be  cherished  well  j 
Her  wants  you  would  supply  ; 

But  none  can  like  a  mother  feel, 
None  do  so  well  as  I. 


94 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


No  !  do  not  ask  my  baby  !  Now, 

Life  hath  no  joy  for  me. 
Oh  Grave  !  place  cold  clods  on  my  brow, 

And  end  this  misery  ! 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


95 


The  morning  sun  is  brightly  shining, 

Gaily  sing  the  little  birds  y 
The  clouds  have  turned  their  silvery  lining  — 

Life  —  I  really  can't  find  words  ! 

Nature  all  is  full  of  beauty, 

Blended  coloring,  rich  and  warm, 
*  And  a  pair  of  eyes  keep  turning 
To  the  corner,  for  thy  form. 

Kisses  have  enwrapped  the  letter  — 

Messenger  of  glorious  news. 
None  e'er  brought  me  tidings  sweeter ; 

Now  laugh  at  me,  if  you  choose. 

Swiftly  now  the  day  is  passing, 
And,  in  spite  of  you,  gay  scorner, 

Eager  eyes  are  ever  watching 
For  thy  form  around  the  corner. 

Twilight  shades  are  dimly  gathering, 

Eve  is  shedding  tears  of  clew; 
Deeper  shadows  gather  o'er  me, 

And  I  feel  like  weeping  too. 

Now  they're  coming,  for  I  feel  them 
Trickling  down  my  cheeks  so  warm ; 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Tearful  eyes  are  ever  turning 
To  the  corner,  for  thy  form. 

The  moon  rides  in  her  silvery  chariot, 

Xightly  stars  are  peeping  out. 
All  are  punctual  to  duty  • 

Oh  !  what  can  you  be  about  ? 

TVell  !  I'm  almost  out  of  patience  ! 

Now  I  fear  some  cruel  harm, 
And  with  earnest  eye-  I'm  watching 

At  the  corner,  for  thy  form. 

Xone  can  know  the  bitter  feeling 
But  the  grievous  pain  hath  borne. 

When  ail  La. ;  :  —     a  a:  '  '  Li-  .  -t-t-p  !  — - 
Xow  all  sighs  and  tears  have  flown. 

I've  forgiven  thee  already  ! 

Here  I  go  to  bathe  my  face  ; 
Let  a:-:  bat  a'.aast  tats  rataie — 

And  my  hair  is  out  of  place. 

Eeady  now.  I  take  my  station 

At  the  door,  free  from  alarm  ; 
The  brightest  eyes  in  all  creation 

Now  are  resting  on  thy  form. 

My  cup  of  bliss  is  overflowing, 
Tones  of  love  fall  on  my  ear, 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


97 


My  heart  with  fervent  joy  is  glowing, 
Wholly  destitute  of  fear. 

I  am  happy,  all  too  happy  ! 

Now  I  feel  thy  kisses  warm; 
Loving  arms  have  closely  folded 

Me  in  fondness  to  thy  form. 


93 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Stat  pttte  mxA  §o. 

There's  nothing  in  life  more  important, 

Oft  causing  the  bitterest  woe, 
When,  too,  it  might  be  averted 

By  saying  that  simple  word,  No ! 

Oh !  parents,  be  wise  in  your  training 
The  minds  God  has  given  below ) 

Be  sure,  when  occasion  requires  it, 
To  answer  decidedly,  No  ! 

And  to  you,  tender,  blooming  young  maiden, 

I  would  say,  before  farther  I  go, 
Say  Yes,  if  the  "  old  folks  "  are  willing  ; 

And  if  they  are  not,  tell  him  No. 

When  that  gallant  young  fellow  comes  wooing, 

With  passionate  ardor  aglow, 
Just  find  out  what  course  he's  pursuing, 

And  if  he  ain't  right,  tell  him  No. 

If  to  Bacchus's  shrine  he's  devoted, 
And  to  midnight  carousals  will  go, 

Just  hold  up  your  head,  my  proud  beauty, 
And  scornfully  answer  him  No  ! 

Young  man,  let  me  warn  and  beseech  you, 
Ere  to  ruin  you  speedily  go, 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


99 


Turn  your  back  on  the  base,  smiling  tempter, 
And  nobly  hurl  back  a  firm  No  ! 

Look  not  on  the  wine  in  its  beauty, 

While  sparkling  and  bright  in  its  glow ; 

Touch  not  the  dread  cup  !  —  'tis  thy  duty  — 
And  to  every  offer,  say  No  ! 


100 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


SONG  AND  CHORUS. 

Under  the  grape- vine,  darling, 

Where  purple  clusters  hung, 
You  gave  me  the  sweetest  answer 

Ere  framed  by  human  tongue. 
The  ripple  of  its  echo 

Has  rang  far  down  the  way 
Of  life's  glad,  golden  summer — 

Turned  darkness  into  day. 
chorus  : 

0  Alice !  sweet,  sweet  Alice  ! 
Can  I  forget  the  day 

1  told  you  that  I  loved  you  ? 
Pure-hearted  Alice  Gray. 

Under  the  grape-vine,  darling, 

Tour  white  hand  touched  my  own, 
Sending  a  tremor  through  me, 

Like  some  grand  music  tone. 
It  fluttered  in  my  broad  palm, 

A  tiny  dove-like  thing, 
While  tender  eyes  gazed  fondly 

On  our  betrothal  ring. 

Chorus  —  0  Alice  !  &c. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH.  101 


Under  the  grape-vine,  darling, 

Your  beauteous  golden  head 
I  drew  to  my  throbbing  bosom, 

And  loving  words  were  said, 
Whose  melody  will  ever 

Send  a  sweet  and  mellow  chime 
Far  down  in  the  bright  forever, 

Past  the  boundary  of  time. 

Chorus  —  0  Alice  !  &c. 

Ah  !  never,  my  own  fond  darling, 

Can  I  forget  the  day 
When  I  told  you  that  I  loved  you, 

My  brown-eyed  Alice  Gray. 
Your  little  hand,  my  darling, 

Is  chilled  by  death,  and  now 
The  cold  clods  of  the  valley 

Lie  on  your  snowy  brow. 

Chorus  —  0  Alice  !  &c. 

Your  golden  head  will  never 

Lie  on  my  breast  again ; 
You're  free  from  earthly  sorrow, 

Free  from  all  grief  and  pain. 
God's  will  be  done,  lost  darling  ! 

"  He  cloeth  all  "things  well." 
We'll  meet  in  climes  celestial, 

Heaven's  sweetest  songs  to  swell. 

Chorus  —  0  Alice  !  &c. 


102 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


%xl  §M«al  to  t\u  <&vmp. 

Brothers  !  is  it  not  more  than  passing  strange 

That  we,  the  members  of  the  Grange, 

Think,  talk  and  plan  — 'tis  very  strange  indeed  — 
And  yet  in  naught  we  undertake  succeed  ? 

For  months  we've  gravely  met.    What  have  we  done  ? 
Nothing  accomplished  7neath  the  blessed  sun  ! 
Our  breath  is  spent  in  vain  ;  it  really  seems 
All  ends  in  fitful,  visionary  dreams. 

Air-castles  !    It  is  wonderful  to  me 
How  we  from  nothing  can  expect  to  see 
Grange  stores,  guano  factories,  proudly  rise, 
Towering  in  grandeur  to  these  southern  skies. 

Brothers  !  let's  prove  that  we  are  men  —  are  men ! 
The  task  is  ours,  1  say  it  o'er  again  , 
Let  every  lip  drink  from  one  common  cup, 
And  by  our  manhood  build  our  country  up. 

In  union  there  is  strength  F    Then,  side  by  side, 
We'll  wait  the  coming  of  the  fearful  tide  ; 
With  hand  in  hand  we'll  stand  by  one  another, 
And  prove  to  all  we  something  mean  by  "  brother." 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


103 


To  us  —  the  bone  and  sinew  of  our  land ; 
To  us  —  a  brave,  determined  little  band  ; 
To  us  —  there  can  be  no  such  word  as  fail  5 
Let  every  hand  be  firm,  let  no  heart  quail. 

Succeed  !    We  can,  we  must,  we  will ! 
Each  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  come  good,  come  ill ! 
We  are  all  birds  of  the  same  stripe  and  feather. 
Eesolve,  this  Grange  shall  live —  or  die  together  ! 


104 


8CJ  ITEMED  LEA  TE>. 


Cities  to  One  Cove, 

Daylight  waneth  —  sunset's  gleaming 

Golden  bright  o'er  hill  and  tree  ; 
Soon  the  starlight's  gentle  beaming 

Will  rest  lovingly  on  me. 
My  sad  heart  goes  ont  in  sighing, 

And  a  elond  is  on  my  brow ; 
Tell  me.  tell  me  truly,  darling, 

Do  you  lore  me  any  now  ? 

Once  my  form  was  slight  and  airy, 

And  my  cheek  bloomed  as  the  rose  j 
With  a  step  light  as  a  fairy. 

As  it  through  the  wildwood  goes  : 
Xone  of  life's  perplexing  troubles 

To  my  happy  heart  had  come  -T 
Blowing,  childlike,  life's  gay  bubbles, 

Merry  as  the  wild  bee's  hum. 

Time  has  many  changes  brought  me, 

But  this  heart,  so  warm  and  true, 
Never,  since  the  hour  you  sought  me, 

Beat  for  any  one  but  you. 
Time  has  rudely  snatched  the  beauty, 

Though  but  little  I  could  claim ; 
I  am  changed  in  all  things,  darling ; 

Changed — except  in  heart  the  same. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


105 


Eyes  there  are  with  care  ne'er  laden, 

Mine  are  dim  with  sorrow's  tears ; 
And  no  longer  sylph-like  maiden, 

As  I  was  in  other  years. 
Does  your  heart  beat  just  as  warmly 

As  when  first  you  breathed  love's  vow  1 
Tell  me,  tell  me  truly,  darling  — 

Do  you  love  me  any  now  ? 


106 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Farewell !    And  must  I  say  farewell  to  thee, 
And  sec  thee  laid  forever  from  my  sight  ? 

Will  not  my  old  heart  burst  with  agony  — 
Thou,  who  hast  been  of  all  my  life  its  light  ? 

The  staff  of  my  old  age,  to  lean  upon 

When  silvered  locks  and  tottering  steps  were  come  5 
My  pride,  my  hope,  my  staff,  my  first-born  son  ! 

Would  I  could  go  with  thee  to  thy  last  home  ! 

How  oft,  in  childhood's  sportive  hour,  at  eve, 
Fve  watched  thee  with  a  father's  glowing  pride  5 

Nor  for  another  wouldst  thou  ever  leave 

Thy  favorite  place  by  thy  loved  father's  side. 

For  oh  !  it  seems,  since  I  am  sore  bereft, 

That  never  father  had  a  son  so  true  ! 
Thank  God,  I  have  three  brave  boys  left ; 

But  ah !  my  first-born,  none  can  be  like  you. 

To  see  thee  in  thy  manly  beauty  lie 
Asleep  with  holy  calm  upon  thy  brow, 

Free  from  life's  conflicts  and  its  cares,  I  sigh, 
And  ?neath  the  strick'ning  rod  I  humbly  bow. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


107 


Oh,  agonizing  thought !    It  drives  me  wild ! 

By  thy  own  hand  the  cruel  deed  was  done. 
How  couldst  thou  stab  thy  father  so,  my  child  ? 

Would  God  that  I  had  died  for  thee,  my  son ! 

No  !    Thou  wast  not  thyself,  my  noble  boy  ! 

A  moment,  frenzied  madness  to  thee  came. 
Thank  God,  my  mind  doth  this  sweet  thought  employ  — 

Thyself  thou  wast  not,  and  we  cannot  blame. 

Could  I  have  been  beside  thee,  but  one  word 

From  thy  old  father  would  have  stayed  thy  hand ; 

For  in  delirium,  if  my  voice  was  heard, 
My  slightest  wish  to  thee  was  a  command. 

These  frail  and  tender  blossoms  need  thy  care ; 

Who  will  protect  them  now,  since  thy  strong  arm 
Lies  pulseless  on  thy  breast  ?    Oh  hear  my  prayer ! 

Great  Heavenly  Father,  keep  them  from  all  harm  ! 

Those  sacred  words  traced  by  thy  dying  hand 
Come  like  sweet  incense,  and  my  heart  beguiles 

Of  anguish  :  "  God  hath  said  thou  shalt  be  saved," 
And  thou  art  basking  in  a  Saviour's  smiles. 


With  thy  own  angel  Lou,  thy  dark-haired  bride, 
Thou  art  so  happy  now,  so  free  from  woe ; 

For  thou  didst  love  her  so,  that,  when  she  died, 
Thy  noble  mind  was  shattered  by  the  blow  ! 


108 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Let  me  but  once  again  look  on  that  brow. 

And  is  that  great,  great  heart  forever  still  ? 
That  loved  voice  silent  —  hushed  its  music  now  ? 

Oh !  hath  this  agony  no  power  to  kill  ? 

Thou  art  at  rest  forever,  noble  heart ! 

Too  pure  thou  wast  for  earthland,  cold  and  drear. 
In  heavenly  joys  at  last  thou  hast  a  part  5 

Then  why  do  our  fond  hearts  long  for  thee  here  ? 

Farewell !    A  lump  of  senseless  clay  thou  art. 

I  will  not  think  of  thee  as  in  the  grave, 
But  in  the  bright  beyond  5  in  endless  day 

Thy  spirit  soars,  my  boy,  so  good  and  brave ! 

To  heaven  I  lift  my  dim  and  weary  eyes. 

Hope  points  the  way.    I  long  for  wings  to  soar 
To  that  blest  land,  far,  far  beyond  the  skies, 

Where  dire  disease  and  death  can  come  no  more. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


109 


TO  A  YOUNG  BACHELOR,  WHO  SAID  HE  HAD  WRITTEN  A 
POEM  ON  "  HOME." 

A    Bachelors  Sanctum  Sanctorum  !" 

Come  tell  me;  dear  Claude,  what  it  is ; 
Where  nothing  around  or  before  them 

Speaks  either  of  comfort  or  bliss. 

What  know  you  of  home  and  its  pleasures, 

In  your  lonely  and  desolate  cell  ? 
And  what  are  they  worth  —  all  your  treasures  ? 

I  wish  any  bachelor  would  tell. 

Just  wait  a  few  years,  my  clear  brother, 
Till  you  sit  not  alone  by  your  hearth, 

While  you  hear  the  sweet  voice  of  another  — 
Then  see  what  your  home  will  be  worth. 

Only  wait  till  the  firelight  gleaming 

Falls  brightly  on  rich  raven  hair, 
And  to  gaze  in  those  dark  eyes  were  seeming 

To  see  what  the  angels  are. 

Then  HI  list  to  your  poem  with  pleasure) 

While           will  sit  by  and  smile, 

As  I  tell  of  your  bachelor  effort, 

And  rake  you,  old  fellow,  in  style  f 


110 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


0  Alice,  lovely  flower  !  thou  art  gone 
To  climes  where  only  rare  exotics  bloom, 

Snatched  by  the  tyrant  death,  in  life's  bright  mora, 
And  our  fond  hearts  are  filled  with  deepest  gloom. 

Like  the  sweet  violet  in  its  mossy  bed, 

Thine  was  a  quiet,  peaceful,  holy  life, 
Fragrant  and  pure ;  but,  Alice,  thou  art  dead  ! 

Forever  done  with  sorrow,  pain  and  strife. 

And  wilt  thou  come  no  more,  0  darling  one, 

With  bright  and  winning  smile  to  cheer  sad  hearts  ? 

Oh  !  can  it  be  thou  art  forever  gone  ? 
What  comfort  this  sweet  hallowed  thought  imparts  : 

We  will  not  see  thee  here  again  on  earth ; . 

Thy  voice,  so  full  of  melody,  is  still ; 
An  angel  now,  of  pure  celestial  birth ; 

And  though  we're  desolate,  it  is  God's  will! 

The  Saviour  saw  thee  in  thy  guilelessness, 

So  full  of  grace  and  angel  purity, 
And  seeking  to  fill  up  thy  cup  of  happiness, 

In  making  up  His  jewels,  He  had  need  of  thee. 

Farewell,  sweet  Alice  !    Oft  will  memory, 

As  on  the  past  I  sweetly,  sadly  dwell, 
Bring  back  thy  graces  and  thy  charms  to  me. 

Lovely  young  friend,  a  last,  a  long  farewell ! 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH.  Ill 


Ache,  ache,  ache ! 
By  fever  wildly  fed. 

Ache,  ache,  ache  ! 
With  brain  and  heart  like  lead. 
While  the  touch  of  velvet  fingers 
On  my  throbbing  brow  still  lingers, 
So  soft  and  cool,  and  soothing  all  my  pain. 

Break,  break,  break ! 
Poor  lonely  heart,  and  rest. 

Break,  break,  break ! 
But  hush  !  for  God  knows  best. 
Those  hands,  no  longer  seeking, 
That  voice,  no  longer  speaking, 
To  give  my  spirit  comfort  once  again. 

Hush,  hush,  hush ! 
My  poor  heart's  sad  repining. 

Hush,  hush,  hush  ! 
The  clouds  have  silvery  lining ) 
But  our  weak  human  eyes  can  see 
Only  the  pain  and  misery ; 
And  we  are  always  looking  for  the  rain. 


112 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Wt  m  M  imt* 

We  are  but  four.    The  others  sleep 

Beneath  the  grassy  sod  ; 
Let  us  the  tie  that  binds  us  keep 

Sacred — next  heaven  and  God. 

We  are  but  four.  Ah  !  nevermore 
May  discord  come  between ; 

But  may  we  in  affection  grow, 
And  on  each  other  lean. 

If  joy ,  prosperity  and  peace, 
Our  pathway  bless  through  life, 

We'll  glory  in  each  other's  joy, 
And  share  each  other's  strife. 

And  when  afflictions  sharp,  severe, 
Our  anxious  hearts  have  riven, 

Oh  !  let  them  render  still  more  clear 
The  loved  ones  spared  by  Heaven. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


113 


Dear  Kosa,  I  am  sad  to-night ; 

Alone  !  yes,  all  alone  ! 
The  fire-light  gleams  not  half  so  bright 

When  all  the  loved  are  gone. 

Fve  seen  them  leave  me  one  by  one, 

Like  evanescent  joys ; 
All,  all  are  fled  !  the  ringing  step, 

And  sweet,  melodious  voice. 

And  there  are  thoughts  that  wing  their  way 

Into  my  saddened  soul  5 
And  of  the  past,  the  joyous  past, 

They  wildly  surge  and  roll, 

When  we  were  happy,  side  by  side, 

Beneath  a  father's  care. 
Where  are  those  halcyon  days  of  yore, 

Where  are  those  pleasures  ? —  where  ? 

Dear  sister,  still,  in  fancy,  we 

Together  wildly  roam 
Where  little  squirrels  play'd  hide  and  seek, 
In  the  grand  old  woods  at  home. 


114 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


That  home,  where  beds  of  fragrant  flowers 

Made  redolent  the  air ; 
That  home,  where  music,  books  and  birds, 

Rendered  us  happy  there ; 

The  parlor,  where  the  mellow  lamp 

Shed  softened  light  around, 
While  hearts  whose  ardor  knew  no  damp, 

Beat  with  a  light  rebound  ; 

That  sacred  chamber,  where  the  loved 

Peacefully  dying  lay  — 
Where  their  pure  spirits  burst  their  bonds, 

And  walked  the  golden  way  — 

Has  passed  to  strangers.    No  loved  voice 

Calls  us  to  evening  prayer. 
The  place  now  knoweth  us  no  more ) 

7  Tis  desolation  there. 

My  head  droops  low  upon  my  breast, 
My  ear  shuts  out  each  sound, 

And  fearful  for  my  waking,  lest 
All  will  be  dark  around. 

Sweet  memories  come  thronging  back 

Into  my  heart  to-night. 
Do  you  remember,  darling  child, 

All  that  made  home  so  bright  ? 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH.  '  115 


Child-sister,  now  your  tearful  eyes 

Look  lovingly  in  mine  ) 
Your  chubby  hands  and  dimpled  arms 

Around  my  neck  entwine, 

And  downy  cheek,  close  to  me  prest, 

In  your  own  childish  way  5 
They  always  said  I  loved  you  best. 

"  The  baby/7  I  would  say, 

And  lift  you  to  your  favorite  seat, 

Your  prattling  tongue  to  hear  5 
Then  some  sweet  story  would  repeat, 

Of  our  lost  mother  dear. 

But  this  is  past ;  and  here  to-night 

Fm  sitting  all  alone  ! 
No  melody  is  in  my  heart, 

No  music  in  my  tone  5 

And  there  are  thoughts  that  wind  their  way 

Into  my  troubled  soul, 
And  of  the  past  — the  bitter  past  — 

They  wildly  surge  and  roll. 

And  though  they  tell  me  you  have  found 

A  friend  so  kind  and  true, 
Of  all  sad  thoughts  that  fill  my  brain, 

The  saddest  are  of  you. 


116 


SCATTERED  LEA  VES. 


immW ! 

Farewell !  Farewell !    And  must  I  now  control 
The  torrent  of  my  fierce  and  burning  love  1 

Oh  !  I  have  Tried  with  all  my  heart  and  soul 
To  quench  its  fury  —  every  trace  remove. 

This  hopeless  love  how  fondly  have  I  cherished, 
Since  it  hath  been  no  sin  to  worship  thee ; 

The  love  I  thought  for  years  had  surely  perished; 
Burst  forth  in  all  its  wild  intensity. 

Farewell !  Farewell !    Yes,  I  will  once  again 
Strive  to  crush  out  this  fierce,  consuming  love. 

A  few  short  months  I  reveled  in  its  pain  — 

For  hopeless  love  naught  else  but  pain  can  prove. 

Farewell  !  Farewell !    These  are  my  last,  last  tears  ; 

The  millions  I  have  shed  are  naught  to  thee ; 
A  weary  battle-ground  for  years  and  years 

My  heart  has  been  —  yes,  fighting  to  be  free. 

Hard  have  I  fought  with  this  my  only  love  5 

Fought  till  in  agony  it  dying  were. 
Although  for  years  we  have  together  strove, 

At  last  'tis  slain  —  and  I  am  conqueror ! 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


117 


So,  sadly,  reverently,  my  twice  dead  love 
I  put  away — as  we  consign  our  dead 

Unto  a  peaceful  tomb,  where  naught  can  move 
The  passions,  which  are  henceforth  ever  fled. 

With  one  fond,  tender  look  I  turn  away, 
Pressing  a  last,  last  kiss  upon  its  brow. 

Lie  there,  belov'd,  till  resurrection  day, 

When  all  will  brightness  be  where  clouds  are  now. 


118 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


There  was  a  time  thine  eyes  with  trust 

Gazed  lovingly  in  mine  ; 
But  thou  art  changed.    Perhaps  'tis  just, 

That  I  in  sadness  pine. 

?Tis  strange  that  noble  heart  of  thine 
Could  from  me  thus  be  riven  j 

And  that  pure  love,  which  once  was  mine, 
To  strangers  all  begiven ! 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


119 


%mtx\tt. 

FRAGMENTS  OF  AN  UNWRITTEN  LIFE. 
PART  FIRST. 

Yes,  Hubert,  she  is  thine  !    Let  it  not  throw 
A  blight  upon  thy  happiness,  to  know 
How  fondly  I  have  loved  her.    Cease  thy  fears  ) 
That  love  is  sacred.    Yes,  for  years  and  years, 
Since  she  was  but  a  gladsome,  joyous  child, 
Fve  cherished  the  fond  hope,  so  vain  and  wild, 
That  one  day,  bless'd  with  fair  Beatrice'  love, 
My  aimless  life  might  yet  a  blessing  prove. 

I  might  have  known,  with  your  bright  laughing  face 
And  gentle  ways,  yourself  would  win  the  place 
I  coveted  so  long.    How  could  I  be  so  blind, 
And  of  the  fruit  but  bitter  ashes  find  ? 
For  I  was  always  grave,  and,  it  appears, 
Too  stern  and  cold,  and  old  beyond  my  years  ) 
And  no  one  dreamed  volcanic  fires  below 
Threatened,  in  unguarded  moments,  to  o'erflow. 

I  guarded  well  my  secret,  gave  no  sign. 

By  which  dear  Beatrice  could  my  heart  divine. 

But  this  is  past  5  so,  brother,  let  it  rest. 

Next  to  sweet  Beatrice,  I  have  loved  thee  best. 


1-JO 


8  CA  TILLED  L  LA  VJB& 


If  thou  art  happy,  oh !  I  would  not  cast 
One  shadow  on  thy  bright  and  joyous  past. 
I  will  reproach  thee  not :  no  word  of  blame 
Escapes  my  lips ;  to  me  thou  art  the  same. 

Cherish  and  love  her.  Hubert.    For  thy  sake 
I  will  resign  her.  though  this  heart  should  break ; 
Will  tear,  though  it  should  rend  the  thing  apart. 
Her  blessed  image  from  my  writhing  heart. 

0  Hubert !  Hubert  !  what,  oh  what,  if  thou 
Hadst  loved  and  been  unloved,  as  I  am  now  f 
Had-t  wooed,  and  seen  the  prize  another  claim. 
And  lived  to  call  her  by  another's  name  ? 

Then  eould'st  thou  dream  the  torture  I  endure  : 

The  gnawing  pain,  for  which  earth  hath  no  cure. 

Alone  !  alone  !    Always  to  be  alone, 

Unloved,  unblest !  this  the  heart's  bitter  moan. 

Exiled  from  home  !  for  here  I  cannot  stay  ; 

No  hope  or  wish  for  heaven  :  no  heart  to  pray  ! 

For  what  were  earth  or  heaven,  without  her  peerless  love  ? 

But  my  undying  love  for  her  111  prove. 

Tea.  by  our  gentle  mother,  on  whose  knee 
TVe  prattled  forth  our  words  of  boyish  glee  : 
Tea,  by  our  spotless  innocency  then, 

1  vow  to  you,  that  ne'er — no,  ne'er  again. 
Tour  true  heart  need  be  racked  by  jealous  fears ; 
For  I  accept  my  fate  for  future  years  — 

My  fate  of  sadness,  loneliness  and  tears 


POEMS  OF  MBS,  LEACH. 


121 


Brother,  farewell !    'Tis  cruel  thus  to  speak, 
And  see  those  big  tears  roll  adown  thy  cheek • 
Near  her  loved  side  I  cannot,  must  not  stay, 
Once  more  to  hear  her  voice,  and  then  away  ! 
No  power  on  earth  this  agony  can  quell, 
Brother,  Beatrice,  Love  and  Life  —  farewell ! 

PART  SECOND, 

Brother,  your  hand  !    How  I  have  longed  to  feel 
Once  more  its  cordial  grasp  !    I  am  not  steel ! 
Start  not •  'tis  not  a  phantom  ;  it  is  I ! 
Cain-like,  I  death  have  sought,  but  could  not  die. 
So  when,  in  my  lone  exile,  tidings  flew 
That  thou  must  leave  Beatrice  and  thy  boy  too, 
To  face  the  enemy,  I  could  not  sleep. 
Oh  !  deem  it  not  unmanly  thus  to  weep. 

'Tis  true  then,  Hubert,  thou  away  must  go ; 
And  yet*  to  taunt  thee,  brother,  jn  thy  woe 
I  come  not  •  for  I  know  'twill  surely  break 
Beatrice'  loving  heart.    For  her  sweet  sake 
Oh  !  let  me,  let  me,  Hubert,  take  thy  place, 
And  bring  back  sunshine  to  her  shadowed  face. 
For  oh !  it  would  be  very  sweet  to  know, 
For  me  one  sigh  would  heave,  one  tear  would  flow 

From  those  dear  eyes,  where,  years  agone,  I'd  see 
Naught  else  but  brightest  smiles  continually. 
Think  it  not  strange  •  to  save  that  bosom  pain, 
Death  would  be  sweet,  could  I  die  o'er  again. 


122 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Start  not  to  view  my  pale  and  haggard  cheek ; 
Of  the  sad  buried  past  we  will  not  speak ; 
These  silvered  locks  my  agony  will  tell, 
TThen  lips  are  mute  ;  brother,  farewell,  farewell ! 
Oh  !  do  not  sob  and  cling  unto  me  so, 
Dear  Hubert,  you  unman  me !  let  me  go  ! 


PABT  TRIED. 

?Twas  summer.    Glorious,  golden  time  — 
Delicious,  dreamy,  balmy  June  ) 

Birch,  furze  and  creeping  eglantine 
Made  twilight  of  the  hottest  noon. 

The  sun's  great  orb  burst  forth  above 
The  dim  horizon's  checkering  light, 

Turning  the  gnarled  old  oaks  to  gold, 
And  making  all  things  wondrous  bright. 

The  tiny,  fragrant  woodland  flowers, 
Heavy  with  glittering  dew,  were  bent, 

Xor  raised  a  wreath-mist,  by  its  power 
To  veil  the  glowing  firmament. 

Long  sylvan  av'nues,  miles  away, 
Through  forest  scenery  wild  and  rare 

Were  sweeping,  and  the  songsters  gay 
Made  music  on  the  morning  air. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH* 


123 


Forth  from  the  forest's  umbrage  came 
A  solitary  horseman.    Just  had  Fame 
Heaped  brightest  laurels  on  his  noble  brow. 
What,  what  to  him  were  earthly  honors  now  ? 

A  gray-clad,  Southern  soldier — pale,  blood-stained, 
His  dripping  steed  with  no  nerve  left  unstrained. 
Ere  morning's  dawn,  with  struggling,  labored  breath, 
They  started  on  this  fearful  race  with  Death. 

The  red  blood  trickled  from  the  gaping  wound  ) 
Still  horse  and  rider  seemed  to  spurn  the  ground. 
With  wide  dilating  nostrils  and  foam-covered  sides 
The  noble,  faithful  steed,  makes  his  last  glorious  strides. 

Just  as  behind  the  distant  hill-tops  sinks  the  sun, 
He  makes  one  last,  last  effort,  and  the  goal  is  won. 
Once  more  at  home — that  childhood's  home  so  sweet  — 
The  dripping  steed  falls  down  at  Beatrice'  feet. 

One  loving  word — one  tender,  deep-drawn  sigh  — 
Brother,  Beatrice,  I've  come  home  to  die ! 
The  struggle's  o'er !  —  Closed  are  those  weary  eyes, 
Ceased  that  fond  heart's  pulsation  —  cold  he  lies  ! 
Forever  done,  0  noble  one,  with  earthly  strife, 
At  last  thou  art  at 'rest !    Such,  such  is  life  ! 


124 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


&twmv  fgm  to  f  m  p*. 

Another  less  to  love  rae,  another  less  to  weep 

When  my  weary  heart  is  burdened  down  with  care ; 

Another  less  to  linger  near  to  soothe  my  grief  so  deep  ) 
Another  less  to  kneel  with  me  in  prayer. 

Another  less  to  clasp  my  hand  and  press  my  burning 
brow, 

To  whisper  words  of  music  in  my  ear ; 
Another  less  to  cheer  me  when  I  am  lonely  now, 
And  shed  in  sympathy  the  silent  tear. 

And  when  pain's  furnace  burns  within,  and  fever  racks 
my  frame, 

Another  less  to  sit  beside  my  bed, 
And  in  lowest  tones  of  love  to  gently  breathe  my  name ; 

Another  less — for  little  Robbie's  dead ! 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


125 


®*  Mi  Pttt*  gtfleffl. 

Asleep  on  thy  tear-stained  pillow, 

My  darling,  so  happy  and  bright ; 
What  grief,  with  its  darkening  billow, 

Has  swept  o'er  thy  heart-strings  to-night  ? 

All  day  has  thy  little  tongue's  prattle 

Made  sweetest  of  music  for  me, 
As,  busy  with  marbles  and  rattle, 

You  frolicked  in  innocent  glee. 

Your  little  white  fingers  were  ever 

In  mischief,  save  once  on  my  hair 
I  felt  their  light  touch,  rougher  never 

In  leaving  caresses  there. 

So  happy  and  blithesome,  my  darling, 
What  has  troubled  thy  brave  little  heart ! 

From  the  depths  of  that  clear  crystal  fountain, 
What  has  caused  those  few  tear-drops  to  start  ? 

So  buoyant,  so  winsome  and  loving, 

From  morn  till  the  setting  of  sun  ; 
Why  those  tears  on  thy  soft  cheek,  my  darling  ? 

My  poor  little  fatherless  one  ! 


126 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


0  Thou  !  who  the  promise  hast  given, 

The  Father  of  orphans  to  be, 
Look  down  from  Thy  great  throne  in  heaven, 

For  lone  and  defenceless  are  we. 

O'er  life's  thorny  pathway  Thoirlt  guide  him, 
While  on  earthland  his  tiny  feet  stray  ; 

In  Thy  great  heart  of  hearts  wilt  Thou  hide  him, 
And  wipe  eveiy  tear-drop  away. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


127 


Ifttgt  Jtm  tit*  (totfwx  M&t. 

Just  on  the  other  side  they  wait, 

And  oft  I  hear  their  calls, 
Inside  of  heaven's  golden  gate, 

Its  pearl  and  jasper  walls. 

What  though  the  way  be  rough  and  dark? 

I  fear  no  wind  or  tide ; 
For  loved  ones  wait  my  little  barque, 

Just  on  the  other  side. 


SCATTERED  LEAVES, 


THOUGHTS  OX  SEEING  FUKGURSONS  CARTOON 

OF 

Of  (Gubernatorial  |Uce, 

WEITTEX  XOTEKBER  2.  1ST6. 

Yes.  blow  your  horn,  Billy,  and  rally  your  crew  — 

Scalawags,  carpet-baggers  —  all  you  can  do. 

Then  blow  up  your  flat-headed,  blubber-lipped  "  niggers ; 11 

You're  all  of  you  cutting  most  elegant  u  riggers/7 

In  attempting  to  head  him,  brave  Zebulon  Vance  ! 

You're  a  parcel  of  ninnies  —  there's  not  the  least  chance. 

He  is  so  tar  ahead,  I  declare,  on  my  soul. 

He  couldn't  be  touched  with  a  forty-foot  pole  ; 

So  grandly  and  proudly  he  keeps  on  his  way. 

Straight  forward,  not  once  from  the  right  will  he  sway. 

Success  crown  his  efforts  ;  long  live  his  renown, 

Who  has  labored  so  hard  to  put  tyranny  down. 

Yes,  go  it !  brave  Zebulon  !  you  are  'most  there  ! 

Hail,  hail  to  the  Gubernatorial  chair ! 

You  are  leaving  poor  Settle  so  far,  far  behind, 

With  his  load  of  corruption  !    Xow.  Vance,  is  that  kind  ? 

And  that  awful  hard  knot  he  can  never  undo, 

Which  ties  him  so  fast  to  that  stake  in  Peru. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


1-29 


Yes  !  blow  your  horn,  Billy  !    Your  radical  crew 
Depend  just  as  much  on  that  horn  as  on  you. 
Blow,  till  your  eyeballs  pop  out  of  their  sockets ; 
Grin,  Ike;  with  your  roguish  hand  stuffed  in  your  pockets ; 
And  spur  away,  African  !  "  cuss  ?em,  Josiah  V7 
Never  pause  till  they  taste  of  the  sulphurous  fire. 
And  pull,  Settle,  pull,  till  it's  out  by  the  roots  ! 
Away  to  your  doom  !    Hurrah  !    Go  it,  boots  ! 

Too  late,  now,  Aunt  Abby  ;  advice  he'll  not  heed; 
He's  on  the  broad  road,  at  a  John  Gilpin  speed. 
Ere.  long,  amid  cheers,  and  the  cannon's  loud  boom, 
They  will  all  be  consigned  to  a  Radical  tomb. 
Then  farewell  high  taxes,  deception  and  theft ; 
They've  stolen  their  thousands,  but  little  is  left. 
The  dark  clouds  now  lowering  will  soon  fade  away, 
Where  night  has  been  brooding  'twill  shine  as  the  day. 
The  rogues  kicked  from  office,  we'll  see,  hand  in  hand, 
Peace,  Plenty  and  Justice  abroad  in  the  land ; 
Our  right  noble  Governor,  generous  and  bold, 
Will  mete  out  sheer  justice  to  young  and  to  old ; 
The  learned  and  the  rich,  the  ignorant  and  poor, 
In  him  find  a  friend,  and  a  wide-open  door. 
Let  his  name  be  emblazoned  in  letters  of  gold, 
And  deep  in  the  hearts  of  every  household. 
Brave  champion  of  Liberty  !  ever  his  lance 
Has  been  drawn  for  the  right,  brave  Zebulon  Vance ! 


130 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Wnfler  tlte 

Higher  and  higher  the  snow-drifts  heap, 
Hiding  away  the  low  garden  wall, 

Robing  the  trees  and  flowers  asleep, 
And  the  vine  on  the  columns  tall. 

All  day  long  I  have  watched  them  fall, 
Glistening  snow-flakes,  pure  and  white, 

Covering  gently  with  snowy  pall 

That  grave,  with  touch  loving  and  light. 

Under  the  snow  so  deep  he  lies, 

Buried  away  from  my  longing  sight ; 

Lustreless  now  are  those  love-lit  eyes, 
And  life  is  one  long  starless  night. 

All  day  long,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes, 
I've  peered  in  the  heavy,  leaden  clouds  ; 

But  the  gloom  of  these  dull  December  skies, 
Is  naught  to  that  which  my  heart  enshrouds. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


131 


Fve  passed  through  many  a  changing  scene 
Since  my  hand  was  clasped  in  thine  5 

Since  I  felt  the  thrill  of  thy  soft  dark  eye, 
As  it  fondly  gazed  in  mine. 

Fve  heard  the  joyous  breathe  thy  name, 

But  I  acted  well  my  part  • 
They  dreamed  not  'neath  the  gladsome  smile 

I  wore  a  breaking  heart. 

And  when  the  unbidden  tear  would  flow, 

So  quickly  I  dashed  it  away, 
They  caught  but  a  glimpse  of  the  heartless  smile, 

And  deemed  me  as  happy  as  they. 

I  met  thee  once  more  —  at  the  bridal — 

Again  I  was  close  to  thy  side, 
'  And  heard  thee  speak  in  soft,  low  tones, 
To  the  gay  and  beauteous  bride. 

'Twas  there  they  told  me  another  claimed 

The  heart  which  once  I  knew ; 
They  little  dreamed  I  loved  thee  still 

With  deep  devotion  true. 

And  I  may  never  meet  thee  more ! — 

'Twere  best  we  ne'er  had  met,  . 
Since  our  dream  of  love  so  soon  was  o'er, 
Arid  the  heart  can  ne'er  forget !  * 


133 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Why  don't  I  get  a  letter  ? 

She  promised  she  would  write — 
The  tantalizing  creature ! 

I'll  slight  her,  out  of  spite. 

Here  I  have  been  half  crazy 
For  ten  o'clock  to  come  ; 

And  now  I'm  disappointed. 

I  tell  you  what,  she's  "  some  ! 79 

I  hardly  think  she'd  trifle, 

Or  like  another  beau  ; 
I'd  shoot  Mm  with  my  rifle, 

And  let  the  coquette  go. 

I'll  throw  aside  this  trouble, 

Though  hard  the  task  ;  no  doubt 

There  is  "  as  good  fish  in  the  sea 
As  ever  were  caught  out." 

There's  Betty,  Lou,  and  Liza  ; 

Oh  yes,  a  real  host ! 
But,  while  I  should  despise  her, 

I  love  that  girl  the  most. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


133 


Fve  turned  my  papers  and  my  books, 

In  nothing  interest  find ; 
For  blue  eyes  cast  such  killing  looks 

Of  coldness,  undefined. 

And  golden  locks  and  fingers  white 

Keep  dancing  o'er  the  pages  5 
Oh  dear !  it  seems  since  Monday  night 

I've  lived  ten  thousand  ages  ! 

It  is  a  shame  to  serve  me  so  ! 

Suspense  alone  will  end  me. 
Fate  seems — but  hark  !  a  voice  below !  — 

A  letter  !    Saints  defend  me ! 

Ecstatic  joy,  unbounded  bliss, 

To  read  her  lines  once  more. 
I  feast  upon  them !  happiness 

Was  never  felt  before. 

0  Zena,  darling  !  all  my  doubts 
And  fears  you'll  never  know ; 
This  moment's  weight  of  happiness 
More  than  repays  my  woe. 


134 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


A  PARODY. 

Respectfully  inscribed  to  a  gentleman  wTio  entertained  peculiar  fond- 
ness for  this  simple  diet 

When  I  list  to  the  praises,  so  light  in  my  eyes, 
Well  lavished  by  man  on  rich  custards  and  pies, 
Sometimes  I  am  tempted  to  tell  them  to  hush, 
As  I  think  of  my  bowl  of  molasses  and  mush. 

When  great  ones  of  earth  spout  around  with  a  noise, 
Brag  loudly  of  all  a  rich  man  enjoys, 
Of  dainties  and  wines,  served  in  costliest  glasses, 
I  feel  I  am  blessed  with  my  mush  and  molasses. 

I  let  them  boast  on,  and  think  all  the  while 

I  list,  with  an  almost  contemptuous  smile, 

As  they  speak  of  their  viands,  that  money  is  "  flush," 

I  would  have  nothing  more  than  molasses  and  mush. 

Then  hear  me,  ye  rich  ones,  ye  poor  ones  of  earth ; 
My  advice  to  all  those  of  high  station  and  birth  — 
To  those  of  all  ages,  all  sizes,  and  classes, 
Is — feast  all  your  lives  on  mush  and  molasses ! 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


135 


WRITTEN  AFTER  READING  A  POEM  CALLED  "  MY  NEIGHBOR'S 
BABY." 

Nurse,  take  them  !  these  dear  little  garments,  so  soft7 
Embroidered  so  richly  and  covered  with  lace  ; 

And  the  cunning  and  dainty  white  hood,  which  has  oft 
Encircled  his  beautiful,  fair  boyish  face. 

They  have  laid  my  own  darling  down  sweetly  to  sleep ; 

But  the  grave  is  so  dark,  and  so  cheerless  and  cold, 
In  sorrow  and  loneliness  ever  I  weep, 

That  my  arms  ne'er  again  will  around  him  enfold. 

Ah  !  many  a  time,  at  that  window  so  small, 

I  the  widow  have  seen,  who  lives  over  the  way ; 

And  close  to  her  side  was  her  baby  —  her  all  — 
Who  frolicked  and  played  all  the  long  summer  day. 

Her  face  it  keeps  haunting  my  sad  heart  to-night, 
As  I  saw  it  one  evening,  so  pallid  and  worn ; 

Oh  !  I,  who  had  ne'er  tasted  sorrow  and  blight, 
No  sympathy  had  for  the  hearts  that  do  mourn. 


13G 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


As  winter  came  on,  with  its  sled  and  its  snow, 
In  warmest  of  furs  my  darling  I  dressed, 

While  she  hugged  her  babe  closer  than  ever  before, 
And  envied  the  rich,  who  were  happy  and  blest. 

For  Fve  seen  her  peer  out  through  the  white  frosted 
pane, 

As  I  passed  in  my  carriage,  enveloped  in  fur ; 
And,  in  pride,  I  exulted  again  and  again, 
That  poverty  came  not  to  me,  but  to  her. 

Oh  !  may  God  forgive  me  !  T  should  not  have  passed, 
But  stopped,  in  my  elegant  suit,  at  the  gate, 

And  lifted  the  cloud  which  was  over  her  cast 
By  stern,  unrelenting  and  hard-hearted  Fate. 

Yes,  take  them  !  and  tell  her  to  envy  me  not 

The  carved  rosewood  crib  — 7tis  unoccupied  now  ! 

My  sad  heart  seems  breaking  —  the  bitterest  lot 

Were  sweet,  to  the  grief  which  my  proud  head  doth  bow. 

Take  all  but  the  slippers,  so  cunning  and  sweet, 
And  tiny  bright  stockings,  so  soft  and  so  warm  — 

The  last  that  you  put  on  his  dear  little  feet ; 

And  crimson  cloak,  too,  which  enveloped  his  form. 

All  but  one  little  dress,  to  her  baby  you  take  — 

The  one  he  wore  last,  when  you  took  him  clown  street. 

Oh  !  let  me  not  see  it !  my  heart  it  would  break, 

If  my  eye  for  a  moment  its  bright  folds  should  meet. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


137 


And  tell  her,  the  face  of  her  darling  to-day, 

As  rosy  and  smiling  it  looks  out  again 
From  the  low  basement  window  just  over  the  way, 

But  adds  to  my  loneliness,  heart-ache  and  pain. 

Just  take  from  my  wardrobe  whatever  she  needs  — 
The  neat  double  wrapper  and  heavy  grey  shawl ; 

He  who  spares  the  shorn  lamb  and  the  wee  sparrow  feeds, 
Still  lets  into  aching  hearts  some  sunshine  fall. 

In  mine  it  is  midnight !    No  deeper  can  be 

The  gloom  which  enshrouds  me.    Ah  !  vain  is  my 
wealth ! 

I  a  palace  would  change  for  a  hovel,  to  see 
My  sweet  baby-boy  all  smiling  in  health. 

Tell  that  pale,  weary  mother,  who  toils  for  her  bread, 
In  value  there's  no  treasure  equal  her  own ; 

To  drop  a  tear  for  her  whose  darling  is  dead, 
Who  sits  in  her  drear,  darkened  chamber  alone. 

Oh  !  may  she  ne'er  know  all  this  agony  wild 

Which  fills  my  sad  heart,  once  blithesome  and  gay ; 

May  God  spare  the  widow  her  bright,  winsome  child  — 
The  sweet  little  baby  just  over  the  way. 


133 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


Zkt  parried  prnt'ss 

A  PAKODY. 

I've  a  cabin  in  the  woods, 
Full  of  comfortable  goods, 
And  a  splendid  little  farm  by  the  hill, 
John  Brown ; 
And  we  often  sit  before 
Our  little  cottage  door, 
While  we  listen  to  the  click  of  the  mill, 
John  Brown. 

The  birdlings  twitter  o'er 
Our  little  cottage  door, 
And  their  merry  chirping  notes  give  us  joy, 
John  Brown ; 
But  the  beauty  of  my  life 
Is  my  own,  my  darling  wife, 
And  the  prattle  of  my  precious  baby-boy, 
John  Brown. 

Come  with  us  to  the  spot, 
Where  the  world  disturbs  us  not ; 
Tread  lightly  and  kneel  gently  on  the  sod, 
John  Brown ; 
Oh  !  I  love  to  linger  here, 
With  my  precious,  loved  ones  near, 
And  offer  grateful  thanks  to  our  God, 
John  Brown. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH. 


139 


I  heard  thy  thrilling  voice  when  all  around  was  gaily 
bright, 

And  pant  again  to  drink  that  tone  of  rapture  and  delight  ; 
My  throbbing  heart  well  cannot  deem  that  voice  is  cold 
and  strange, 

In  such  an  hour  it  will  forget  that  hearts  like  thine  can 
change. 

Life  is  not  life !   I  would  not  live  without  thee,  injured 
one ! 

By  summer  friends,  by  smiling  foes,  the  painful  deed  was 
done  5 

It  cannot  be  our  friendship's  bright  and  glowing  dream  is 
o'er  5 

It  must  not  be  that  we  shall  meet  as  we  have  met,  no  more. 

Have  I  offended  ?    Then  forgive ;  'twill  be  the  nobler 
part. 

And  oh  !  forget  that  I  have  wronged  thy  warm  and  gen- 
erous heart. 

Oh !  would  that  I,  by  act  of  mine,  my  changeless  love 
might  prove ! 

I  would  not  willingly  have  pained  the  heart  of  him  I  love. 


140 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


%1xt  %e$uU&  (&vm. 

Yes,  poor,  neglected  grave  !    It  were  a  shame 
To  see  wild  flowers  and  weeds  at  random  grow, — 

There  might  have  been  a  slab,  with  his  loved  name 
Upon  it,  but  to  tell  who  lies  below. 

Four  long,  long  years  away  from  thee,  my  love  — 
Four  years  of  woe  and  bitterness  and  pain  — 

Since  thy  pure  spirit  soared  to  realms  above, 
And  for  thy  presence  I  have  yearned  in  vain. 


Twice  have  my  poor  unwilling  feet  to  tread 

The  sacred  spot  where  thou  art  sleeping,  dared  ; 

?  Tis  only  there  that  I  can  feel  thee  dead — 

Thou  who  my  every  thought  and  feeling  shared. 

Strangers,  and  all  who  pass  the  hallowed  place, 
a     Have  gazed  upon  this  rude,  neglected  mound, 
And  wondered  Time  could  thus  so  soon  efface 

Thine  image,  since  thou  sleepest  7neath  the  ground. 

But  oh,  I  feared  to  trust  myself  to  see 

The  grave  where  they  had  laid  thy  form  away, 

And  know  that  thou,  the  best  beloved  to  me, 
Like  common  earth  couldst  go  to  dread  decay. 


POEMS  OF  MBS.  LEACH, 


141 


So  wild  —  rebellious  —  that  I  fain  would  tear 
The  heavy  clods  from  off  thy  sweet,  sweet  face  5 

And,  for  a  moment,  felt  that  I  would  dare 
To  rescue  thee  from  thy  lone  resting  place. 

;Tis  well  I  knew  not  when  they  laid  thee  there  — 
Saw  not  the  coffin,  as  they  let  thee  down  — 

For,  with  the  bitterest  cry  and  wildest  prayer, 
And  clasping  arms,  defying  worldly  frown, 

I  would  have  held  thee  back,  my  darling  one  ! 

For  thou  wast  all  the  world  to  me ;  and  must 
I  see  them  heap  the  red  clay  high  upon, 

And  hear  the  words,  Return  thou  "  dust  to  dust" ! 

To  plant  a  flower,  and  know  thou  couldst  not  see, 

Nor  e'er  inhale  its  delicate  perfume  ! 
That  it  could  kiss  the  sunlight,  and  could  be 

A  thing  of  life  —  but  thou  wert  in  the  tomb  ! 

To  raise  a  stone,  thy  upright  life  to  tell, 

When  language  is  so  weak,  and  marble  cold  5 

Thy  many  virtues  in  my  heart  doth  dwell, 
But  still  forever  must  remain  untold. 

I  come  with  these  first  opening  flowers  of  spring, 
My  darling,  to  this  dear  sequestered  spot ; 

A  simple,  pure  and  sacred  offering  — 

But  ah  !  my  loved  one,  thou  can'st  see  them  not ! 


142 


SCATTERED  LEAVES. 


The  white  rose,  dripping  with  the  morning  dew, 

And  the  sweet  violet,  through  its  green  leaves  burst, 

That  I  might  mingle  its  rare  fragrance,  too  j 
Ah !  can  I  lay  them  here  ?  I  must !  I  must ! 

Be  still,  rebellious  heart,  and  cease  thy  murmuring  ! 

With  gentle  hand  plant  evergreens  around, 
And  wreathe  this  simple  slab  with  flowers  of  spring.  .  .  . 

Life's  fitful  fever  over,  here,  beside  this  mound, 

Near  thy  loved  side,  Fll  lay  me  down  in  peace, 
With  folded  hands  and  quiet  pulseless  breast. 

When  life's  conflicting  cares  and  sorrows  cease, 
Then,  in  sweet  dreamless  slumber,  I  shall  rest. 


POEMS  OF  MRS.  LEACH. 


143 


§to  %mtA\t. 


Zebulon  Vance  !    Oh !  what  other  loved  Name 

Entwines  itself  so  'round  these  true  hearts  of  Ours  ? 

Brave  hearts  and  bright  eyes  and  glad  lips  Respond, 

Unto  him  homage  pay,  who  above  the  host  Towers  ! 

Let  mountain  and  plain  resound  with  His  praise, 

Old  ocean's  wild  billows  sweep  it  on  in  their  Course ; 

Nature's  voices,  melodious,  chant  it.  Arise  ! 

Be  one  mighty  people — good  laws  our  Resource. 

Victorious  at  last,  our  struggles  all  O'er, 

A  fervent  prayer  breathe  to  the  giver  of     *  Light. 

No  fear  for  the  future  —  good  times  are  In  store  5 

Clouds  all  have  dispersed  —  no  longer  'tis  Night  5 

Ever  more  let  the  North  State  be  governed  Aright ! 


4' 


